


Through a Soldier's Eyes

by ProbablytherealDeaththeKid



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Civil War, Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, POV Bucky Barnes, POV First Person, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Psychological Torture, Recovery, References to Depression, Torture, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 45,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23780239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProbablytherealDeaththeKid/pseuds/ProbablytherealDeaththeKid
Summary: The Winter Soldier. He is hardened, cold-blooded assassin with over two dozen confirmed kills. Steve Rogers, however, knows him as Bucky Barnes, his childhood best friend. But they've been apart for over 70 years. How much can a person change in that time?
Comments: 13
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

_ Bucky! No! _

“Strastnoye zhelaniye.”

_ I’m with you to the end of the line, pal. _

“Rzhavyye.”

_ This isn’t payback is it? _

“Semnadtsat'.”

_ You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death? _

“Rassvet.”

_ Nah. That little kid from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight. I’m following him. _

“Pech'.”

_ Just go! Get out of here! _

“9.”

_ No! Not without you!” _

“Dobrokachestvennyy.”

_ How can I? You’re takin’ all the stupid with you. _

“Vozvrashcheniye domoy.”

Why am I in so much pain? And who is that screaming?

“Odin.”

Who was that kid?

“Gruzovoy avtomobil'.”

Something releases my head, and I pull myself up as best as I can, but the searing pain is too debilitating. Despite that, there’s an odd calm in my mind. There’s nothing.

“Soldat?” 

I look up and find a man, a red book with a black star in his hand. I have no idea who he is, but he wears colors of high rank. He is my commander, and though I don’t know exactly where I am, I know what to say. “Gotov k vypolneniyu.” 

“We have a new assignment for you. Three targets. Level six,” a low voice interjects.

A short, fifty-year-old blond man in a brown suit comes into view. He reaches behind him, and a soldier with a large, military-grade gun hands him something. The blond man turns back to me and holds up the paper he was handed. It was a photograph of young man--early thirties, maybe?--with short blond hair and shield that--combined with the bright, militaristic uniform--made it look like an American flag threw up on him. The picture was taken in the middle of a battle, and the featured man was standing in the rubble of a ruined city. He was bleeding and bruised, like he had just finished fighting a war. I had never seen him before, but something tugs at the corner of my mind, making me feel like I know him.

“Soldier?” 

I look up at the source of the sound and find the older man staring at me with a mixture of anger, curiosity and worry. 

What is his name, anyways? I’m not supposed to ask questions, but I would still like to know.

“This man is the main target. Take him out before going after the others. His codename: Captain America,” the suited man continues.

Captain America? What kind of a name is that?

Then again, what kind of name is Soldier? If that is my name at all. Soldier is a job, not a name.

“Pierce,” a different man in a lab coat calls, catching the older man’s attention. “A minute, please?”  Pierce must be his name. It’s certainly better than Soldier.

Pierce and the lab coat-clad man move away from me and go to a corner of the room, meeting up with a dark-skinned man with shaggy black hair and body armor.  Some tension inside of me releases once the three of them become absorbed in their conversation, but I don’t know why. Looking at them fills me with ice cold fear, but they had never done anything to me.

I think of the picture Pierce had shown me to take my mind off of the fear. I know that I’ve seen that...kid somewhere before, but I don’t know where. I try to force myself to think back, but there’s nothing beyond a few minutes ago. Nothing but blackness and pain. I know there used to be something in the pain--something I saw--but I can’t remember what.

“Not a good idea,” the lab coat man whispers. The sound of his voice is so low that I can only make out part of the conversation. “Memories can….He might not...He might…”

“...suggest we do….best we’ve got...give...run for...money,” Peirce responded.

“Agreed, but…”

The three fall silent for a moment, and the black-haired man glances back at me before turning back to the others.  "He’s a brainwashed toy soldier. To see what we did to him, it would break his Captain's heart." He raised his voice a little, like he was making sure that I heard him.

What did he mean “brainwashed”?

My head pulses so terribly that my eyes water. I try to move my hand to massage my temple, but my arm doesn’t move. I glance down at myself and find thick metal cuffs latched around both of my arms.  The restraints suddenly release themselves as Pierce walks back up to me. “We know the general area of where he will be, but apart from that, you have to find him yourself. Security will be extremely high, but we have many people on the inside.”

“I’m one of them,” adds the armored man Pierce talked to. “I can keep some men off of your tail.”

“The other two targets are highly skilled, as well,” the lab coated scientist warns. “An African American man and a Caucasian woman: Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanoff. Wilson uses a machine that allows him to fly, and Romanoff is deadly with hand-to-hand combat.”

“Rumlow and I have to go to the SHIELD compound sooner than you,” Pierce continues. “Those here will prepare you for your mission.”

Pierce quickly turns and walks out of the door to the tiled room, the black-haired and armored man--Rumlow, apparently--following closely. Rumlow glances back at me as he leaves with a look in his eye that I can’t make sense out of.

The man in the lab coat walks up to me again with two others behind him. “Hold out your left arm,” he ordered, though it wasn’t in English. Evidently, I can understand Russian.

I comply to the order, and another man takes my silver arm and opens a panel, revealing wiring and other innerworkings. He works on it with a tool that makes sparks come out of it, and after a few moments, he closes the panel and locks it shut, nodding the the others. 

There are three men around me, and their left arms aren’t silver. Why is mine? I’m not wearing a shirt, so it’s not a sleeve or other clothing.

The same man who talked with Pierce and Rumlow takes my right hand and pulls a needle that belongs to an IV drip out of my skin before ordering in Russian, “Soldier, stand.”

I stand, and the other two men rush off, returning with a black uniform that had only one sleeve. The men unfold it and come towards me. My entire being fills with and ice cold fear as the approach me, but I remain where I stand, automatically holding my arms out for them to slip the black uniform over. Once the men finish, they back away again, but I am still afraid. I keep the emotion out of my expression, but the hard tightness of the uniform makes it difficult to breath deeply.

One of the men turns to the doctor who took the needle out of my hand and mutters in Russian, “Do you want the mask this time?”

The doctor responds in the same tongue, “No. The Captain won’t want to hit him if he sees his face.”

The soldiers nod and run off again. They are gone for longer than before, and they return with a variety of weapons. They present two handguns to me, and I automatically take them, attaching them to the utility belt around my waist. I take knives, a grappling hook and a grenade from them before grasping the assault rifle, barely feeling it. 

“Let’s go,” a soldier orders, turning towards the door.

I follow close behind him, and two other soldiers come behind me. They lead me to a windowless, armored black van and slide open the back door. I go in and take a seat on the barren floor, placing the AR at in front of me. One of the soldiers comes in and slides the door closed behind him, lowering himself onto the bench built into the wall of the van. The sound of doors opening and closing reach me through the thick walls of the van, and then the van shudders as an engine roars to life.

As the van starts to move, I flex my left hand slightly, keeping it in full view of the soldier in the van. The feeling of flexing it is so dull, like it was barely even happening. I have to focus on it entirely to feel it at all.

Thoughts of my arm eventually fade, and I think of practically nothing at all as the van moves. After what feels like hours, the van slows to a stop. “This place is in chaos,” the soldier with me says in Russian. “Do what you can to kill the Captain.”

The door slides open and reveals the two other soldiers standing on a tarmac. The one in the van with me gets out to stand by the others, and I get up after him, exiting with the assault rifle in hand.

“Stop!” a voice shouts in English. “Are you HYDRA?” the voice demands as a woman in full body armor and another rifle reveals herself. “Tell me who you are!” 

She is not the Captain, but she is an obstacle that prevents me from reaching him.

I raise the rifle and fire off a quick shot that lands in her neck. She shouts as she falls, blood springing from the wound. 

Hearing the shot, more and more soldiers appear, aiming towards us. Before they could shoot us, I fire on them. One after the other, they fall, and I fire until the bullets in the rifle run out. I didn’t shoot them all. Several run up towards me, but duck their punches and return them with the frame of the rifle itself.

The three soldiers who brought me here must have run off during the shootout. I am on my own from here.


	2. Chapter 2

A hissing sounds, and I look towards it, finding a silver projectile racing towards me. I duck underneath it and charge towards the man that fired. The projectile explodes behind me, and the man moves to fire again, but I grab his gun with my silver arm. He drops it with a look of fear. He turns to run, but I lift one of the handguns from my belt and shoot him in the back.

People pour out of a garage ahead of me. “We’re the only air support Captain Rogers has,” one of them announces. 

The men and women march towards a group of fighter jets. I pick up the grenade launcher from the fallen soldier in front of me and fire towards one of their jets. I can’t take out that captain if he has air support. The jet explodes in a large burst of fire and energy. The men and women scatter and turn to face me as I march forward, firing another grenade. The grenade explodes on the tarmac, sending up a spray of smoke and stone. The people run from the sites of the explosions, drawing weapons.

I pick up a dropped AR as one of their soldiers rushes towards me, pulling the pin out of a grenade. I fire off multiple shots that kill him before he could throw it. I snatch up the grenade as it slips from his hand and throw it up the ramp of a jet that was about to take off. I turn back and run away from the fiery explosion that renders the jet useless.

A man in an orange jumpsuit lifts and AR and fires a spray of bullets towards me. I instinctively block with my left arm, and the bullets clang off of the metal as I close in on him. I punch him hard in the jaw, and he stumbles away. Another man runs up to me, lifting a gun but I kick him in the chest even harder than I punched the other man. The man flies backwards and into the spinning engine of a jet that was steadily rising off of the tarmac.

There is one last jet, and I need a lift to get to the Captain. I run towards it as the pilot settles into the cockpit. I jump on top of it and pull one of the handguns from my belt. I take aim through the glass of the cockpit and fire. The bullet pierces his skull with a splash of blood.

I jump down to the wing of the jet and rip the door off of the copilot’s side. I scan the tarmac for any remaining targets before ducking into the cockpit. The jet automatically finishes the startup sequence that the pilot had initiated, and I guide the aircraft off of the tarmac and into the air as panicked beeps come from the speakers, telling me that the door was open.

A black and orange explosion comes from one of the helicarriers in the air, and a man in a dark blue suit with a red and silver shield jumps off of the edge of it. He is caught by a man with mechanical wings and brought back up. The Captain and Sam Wilson.

I land the jet onto one of the helicarriers and rush out the door. I cross the tarmac of the carrier as one of them says, “You know, you’re a lot heavier than you look.”

“I had a big breakfast,” the Captain responds.

I run forward and kick the Captain in the side as he passes me by. The force of it sent him spinning towards the edge of the carrier.

“Steve!” Wilson shouts, spreading his wings as he runs after the Captain.

I grab one of his wings with my metal arm and throw him behind me. Wilson shouts as he spins in the air, but he manages to right himself. Wilson brings out two guns and fires on me. I flip quickly backwards to avoid the spray of bullets and take shelter behind a metal crate. 

The bangs of his guns end, and Wilson glides into my view. I find a grappling hook on the belt of the uniform, and I raise it towards him. I fire the hook, and it latches onto one of Wilson’s wings, pulling him back towards me. I rip the cord downwards, and Wilson crashes onto the tarmac of the helicarrier. I wind the cord up my metal arm and yank it towards me. One of his wings gets torn off, and I let the cord go, running towards him.

Wilson stands, but I kick him in the chest. He stumbles off of the edge of the carrier and falls towards the ground. His remaining wing suddenly detaches from his suit, and a parachute is released, slowing him down enough to land safely on the roof of a building.

I glance down and find the Captain clinging to the metal side of the helicarrier. He climbs up and puts a hand to his ear, probably communicating with Wilson. He moves towards the door that seems to lead into the carrier.

I start towards the door I spotted earlier and follow him inside, pulling one of the handguns as I move. I cross the multiple catwalks and stand on the one that the Captain seems to be heading towards. I watch him as he climbs up and starts to jog towards me, but when he looks up, he slows to a stop.

He stares at me, breathing heavily. “People are gonna die, Buck,” he pants. Isn’t a buck a male deer? Why is he calling me that? “I can’t let that happen,” he muttered. Countless people already have died, and they didn’t matter. My orders are to kill this Captain, and I have to follow through. “Please don’t make me do this,” he begged.

We stare at each other for another moment before he throws his shield towards me with a grunt of effort. I block with my arm, and the shield bounces off of the metal.

The Captain catches his shield and rushes towards me. I fire off two shots, but he easily blocks. He swings his shield towards me, but I lean back and fire again. The Captain blocks again, and I duck as he swings his shield towards me. I shoot at him with both guns, and one of the bullets catches him in the side. He groans and backs away a step. I get back to my feet and rush towards him, but he puts his shield in front of me and thrusts it forward, throwing me back several feet.

The guns slip from my grasp as I land on the metal floor, but I grasp the knife in the belt of the tough uniform, unsheath it and run back towards the Captain, swinging the blade. He uses his shield as both defense and offense as he blocked and punched. I block with my arm, but he uses that to his advantage and kicks me in the side, throwing me away again.

The Captain inputs several commands into a keypad, and the mechanism in front of him opens up, revealing hundreds computerised keycards. I rush towards him and throw a punch, but he blocks and pushes back just as effectively. He kicks me in the shin with enough force to push me to the floor, and he brings his shield down towards my neck. I catch it and try to shove it out of my way for a clear line of sight to his heart, but it seems that our strength is evenly matched. I use my metal arm and the knife to thrust him away, pushing on his shield.

We both right ourselves, but the Captain was faster. He kicked me squarely in the chest, and I stumble backwards. He runs back up to the keycards and takes one out. I go swiftly back up to him and throw a wild punch with my metal arm, but he quickly blocks with his shield. The two metals clang loudly against each other, and the Captain puts his entire force into pushing me back.

We break apart, and he swings his shield at me again and again, but I manage to dodge every time. I use my arm and hit the shield away. I grab the Captain by the front of his uniform and push him towards the edge of the platform we were on. He suddenly pushes back enough to make me stumble, and he delivers a sharp punch to my jaw.

With the blossoming bruises and fresh cuts on his skin, the Captain looked oddly familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I’ve seen him before. This is the first time we met, but the more hits I landed on him, the more the feeling that I knew him nagged at me.

With a cry of frustration, I rush towards him, throwing us both over the guardrail of the platform. We both land on the second level of the platform, and one of the keycards from the helicarrier slides underneath me. I get up and charge towards him. We both grab each other by the shoulders and throw hit after hit and kick after kick, but neither of us let go. I shove down the nagging feeling and roughly push him away, smacking him with my metal arm. 

He is my mission, and nothing more.

Rogers lands on the edge of the platform, and I slide the rest of the way down towards him. He gets up the moment I get to him and punches me sharply. I return it, knocking the keycard out of his hand. He suddenly kicked me in the stomach hard enough to make me lose my footing and slide off the edge of the platform.

I crash onto floor of the glass dome and don’t stop to catch my breath. I spot Rogers running for the keycard and that I had landed next to both his shield and one of the guns. I pick up the shield and throw it towards him like a frisbee. The shield hits him between the shoulders, and he stumbles but doesn’t fall. He turns and picks up the shield the same moment I pick up the gun. I fire the few remaining shots in the clip, but he easily blocks. I throw the gun away and charge towards him. He throws the shield, but I smack it away with my metal arm.

I catch up to him and bring the knife that is still in my grasp down towards his neck. Rogers catches hold of my wrist and prevents me from stabbing him, but I use my metal arm to triple my force and pierce his shoulder. He cries out in pain before hitting me in the head with his helmet. I manage to hold firm and use his unsteady footing to push him into a support beam a few feet behind him.

He needs that keycard for something. I don’t know what, but he needs it to do whatever he’s planning. I scramble for the card as he rips the knife from his flesh. I manage to get the card into my grasp, but Rogers grabs my wrist. He picks me up by the neck, and I can barely get out a gasp for breath before he throws me onto the glass floor on my back.

He held my arm firm at the elbow and shoulder, forcing my face away from him. I gripped the keycard hard, but Rogers keeps bending my arm in a direction it’s definitely not supposed to go. “Drop it!” he orders.

I try to swing at him with my metal arm, but that only makes the pain in my shoulder worse.

“Drop it!” he shouts again.

When I refuse, he twists my shoulder, and a terrible crack resonates inside of me with unbearable pain coming from my shoulder. I cry out, but keep hold of the card.

With a grunt of effort Rogers flips onto his back and wraps both of his arms around my throat, cutting off my air. I gasp for breath and try to pry his arms away from my neck, but he resists me, forcing my metal arm to the floor and trapping it under his leg. The pressure on my throat grows less and less bearable until black spots appear in my vision, becoming thicker and thicker until they consume me entirely.

* * *

_ “107th. I ship out for England first thing tomorrow.” _

_ “Just go! Get out of here!” _

_ “No! Not without you!” _

_ “Bucky?” _

_ “Who the heck is Bucky?” _

* * *

My eyes snap open, and I gasp for air. Footsteps sound, and I look around to find Stephen charging back up the ramp with the keycard in hand. My eyes land on one of the guns. We must have kicked it off the platform during our fight. I push myself towards it, grip it with my metal arm and raise is towards Stephen as he flips onto the ramp we fell off of. It had only three shots left. I fire off one of them, and it catches him in the back of the leg.

He falls to the ground and looks back at me briefly before shaking his head and running back up. He climbs up the suspended center of the aircraft carrier, and I fire again. The shot hits his arm, making him slip slightly, but he manages to keep hold of the rail. He pulls himself up and runs towards the array of computer keycards. He lifts the card, and I adjust my aim, firing off the last shot that catches him in the side. He cries out and slides to the floor. 

I got him. Finally. With that wound, he would bleed out before any help could get to him.

He strains as he forces himself up, shoving the keycard in place. He mutters something I can’t make out, but he seems satisfied. 

I can’t only half succeed. I can’t half complete a mission. I have to stop him from doing whatever it is he’s doing. 

I take a step towards him, but deafening explosions freeze my steps. I glance out the glass floor and see that the other two aircraft carriers are flaming and firing on each other. The limited structures inside of this carrier collapse with its own explosions. Embers and flames eat through the metal, and a solid steel support beam is lets loose from the side of the glass and falls directly towards me. I step back to dodge, but I don’t move quickly enough, and it lands on top of me, crushing my chest as it forces me onto my back. 

I strain to worm my way out from underneath it, but it doesn’t budge. It’s too heavy for even my metal arm to lift from this angle. 

I am failing this mission. This carrier is going down, and there will be no extraction team. They said it themselves: after they got me in, I’m on my own. No one even knows I’m on this carrier, and it’s losing altitude fast. I’m going to die here.

Part of the metal and glass wall is torn free and thrown towards the water that was coming towards us faster and faster. A soft impact sounds, and I glance towards it to find Stephen limping towards me with his shield in hand. He’s here to kill me. 

I struggle underneath the weight of the support beam again, the gears in my arm audibly whirring as I put all of my force into lifting the beam, but it doesn’t budge. Stephen comes closer and closer, but I can’t move.

With a lurch from the helicarrier, he falls against the beam but stands himself up again. He takes another step towards me, but a new explosion rocks the carrier again, throwing him to the glass floor. He gets back up again and wraps his hands around the beam, groaning as he lifts it.

The weight comes off of my chest, and air flows back into my aching lungs. I worm out from underneath the steel beam, and force myself to at least get to my knees as the beam falls back down with a thud that blends in with the destruction around us. I can’t be this vulnerable with him so close. 

I don’t know why he lifted the beam off of me. Maybe he wants an even fight? But something in the back of my mind tells me that the last thing he wants to do is fight me.

“You know me,” Stephen pants.

Why does he keep saying that? It makes my head hurt every time.

“No, I don’t!” I shout, throwing a punch at his shield.

He stumbles away and stands up. “Bucky,” he pleads, and I something flashes in my mind. A darkened laboratory with sirens screaming in the background and Stephen Rogers leaning over me. “You’ve known me your whole life.” Another image of me carrying Steve home on my back during a day so hot that it could kill him.

I scream again and throw another wild punch towards him, but he easily dodges. What were these pictures in my mind? I’ve never seen this Captain America before, but the sight of him makes my head hurt now, like there was something inside of me straining to get to the surface.

The aircraft carrier rocks again, and I fall against the beam. “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve says.

“Shut up!” I roar, throwing another punch as the name echoes through me.

Why do I know that name?

My head pulses with each of my pounding heartbeats. I can’t know him. They’ll hurt me if I do. I don’t know why I know that, but I do. I will get hurt if I know him.

As Steve and I both stand, he rips his mask off, revealing his vaguely familiar face that was littered with cuts and blossoming bruises. “I’m not gonna fight you,” he breaths, letting the shield drop down towards the water through a hole in the glass. “You’re my friend.”

Another image of Steve appears in my mind. We were at some sort of theme park, and he was pale and sweaty after throwing up.

I roar and charge forward, tackling Stephen to the ground as I force the image away. “And you’re my mission,” I growl, raising my metal fist. I bring my fist down again and again, bloodying his face all the more. “You’re my mission!” I shout, more and more images flooding my mind with each word.

His broken nose and purpled, blood-covered face make him look so familiar that I could swear up and down that I know him.

But I don’t know him. I can’t. They will hurt me if I know him.

“Then finish it,” he mutters as I raise my fist again. “Because I’m with you till the end of the line.”

The end of the line?

Another, fainter image of us standing in the doorway of a rundown slum appears in my mind. I hand him a key saying,  _ “The thing is, you don’t have to. Because I’m with you till the end of the line, pal.” _

But I do know him. I have known him for the longest time.

Steve?


	3. Chapter 3

Part of the aircraft carrier’s metal ceiling crashes down onto the glass floor, and that is all it can take. The floor breaks open underneath us, and I instinctively grab hold of a support beam in the glass.

I look down and watch Captain America fall. No. Not Captain America. Steve. His name is Steve. Just a dumb kid who got had gotten himself into trouble. He might have been my mission, but I can’t let him die.

As the water come up to me faster and faster, I let go of the carrier and drop down after him. Debris from the carrier crashes into the river, but I still manage to spot him through the churning water. I propel myself through the water and reach out for him, snagging him by gun strap of his suit.  I kick up towards the surface and the shoreline. My feet eventually scrape the silt of the riverbank, and I drag Steve out of the water, dropping him onto the dirt. I watch him for a moment to make sure he’s still breathing. He tenses as water drips out of his mouth before his breathing returns to normal. 

There is no extraction team coming for me, and they’ll hurt me if I go back on my own with an unfinished mission. 

I back away from Steve and retreat into the trees. Now is a better time to lose myself in society than any. The confusion from the aircraft carriers’ destruction is more than enough to hide me from them. 

I find my way to a city street and cling to the shadows as people run around. Police are arriving one by one, trying to quell the panic, but they didn’t look like they were having much luck.

I force my way through one of the shattered windows of a clothing shop and jeans, a long sleeve shirt and a pair of gloves to hide my arm and a hoodie and cap to hide my face. I run back out before anyone could see and retreat behind a dumpster. I change as police sirens sound behind me, stuffing my uniform into the hoodie as best as I can and zipping it up.

“Everyone needs to return to your homes immediately!” an amplified voice orders as I pull the hood over my head. 

I wander around until the sun starts to set. I can’t remember if I have ever been out this late alone. And the fight with Steve in the helicarrier replayed in my mind over and over again as I walked. I look back into my memory as far as it would go, but short of waking up and being ordered here, there was nothing but blackness and pain. I force myself to think, concentrating on the black memory. 

A sharp pain stabs my mind, making me stumble. I hiss and massage my aching temple as I catch myself on the wall of a building. The world tilts underneath my feet, throwing me to the dusty ground. 

Pierce’s voice echoes in my mind.  _ “Mission report now!...Your work has been a gift to mankind...and I need you to do it again.” _

Then there was the pain. It was dark, and something was wrapped around my head, drilling into my mind. It was so overwhelming that it consumed everything, draining me away bit by bit.

“Sir?” a woman’s voice calls just loud enough to get me to open my eyes. A dark-haired woman stands over me holding the hand of a little boy in a blue shirt with an image of the Captain’s shield printed on his chest. “Are you alright?”

I nod slowly. I use the wall of the building I fell into to help my shaking legs get back underneath me.

“We just saw you grip your head and fall to the ground,” she explained in a pleasant accent that tells me she’s from the south. “You looked like you were having a panic attack.”

“Are you still alive?” the little boy wonders.

My heart is pounding inside of my chest, so I must be. “Uh, last I checked, yeah.”

“Jason!” the woman groans. “I’m sorry,” she mutters, glancing at me before turning back to her son. “One more outburst like that today and we won’t go to the museum. Now, apologize to the nice man.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason mutters, glancing between me and the ground.

“It’s alright,” I dismiss.

“Have you ever been to the museum here?” the woman wonders.

I shake my head.

“You’ve got to!” Jason exclaims before wincing and looking down again. “Sorry, mom.”

“I’m taking him to see the Captain America exhibit today,” the mother elaborates.

“Do you want to come with us?” Jason tentatively asks.

I don’t know how to answer. It was a simple question, but my mind froze at the decision. 

“If you want to come, we can pay your way,” the mother offers, scanning me from head to toe.

“I’m doing a paper on Captain America for school!” Jason announces. “Or I was. Until another boy took the topic before I could. So I’m writing it on his best friend instead! His real name is James, I think, but Cap always called him Bucky.”

Bucky. That’s what Steve kept calling me. Instinct said he wasn’t tricking me when he said it, but I still doubted.

“I-if it’s no-not too much trouble,” I stutter, my entire body aching with a pain that had no source.

The women smiles. “No trouble at all.” She holds out her left hand as she still keeps hold of her son’s with her right. “I’m Amanda, by the way.”

I force myself not to wince at her movement, though my heart jumps. I slowly lift my shaking left hand and join it with hers, grasping her fingers as gently as I possibly can.

Amanda smiles brightly before thankfully letting go. “It’s just this way.” She gestures down the street and starts walking down it.

I follow closely behind her until the museum comes into view. She gets into line, and I follow behind her, Jason bouncing up and down on the tips of his toes. 

“Listen,” Amanda says turning to me. “Do you see that building up that way? The one that sticks out?” She points down a road to a tall building that jutted out a little ways from the rest of the buildings on the block. I look back to her and nod. “If you ever need to talk, you can walk in there and ask for me. Free of charge.” She smiles again before turning back around and walking forward as we make it to the front f the line.

What did she mean talk free of charge?

“Two adults and one child,” she tells the ticket clerk as she slides a credit card across the counter. 

After a few moments, the man behind the counter hands her three tickets and says in a bored, monotone voice, “Enjoy the museum.” He waves the next person forward as we walk through the doors.

“Hope you enjoy it,” Amanda says.

I nod and mutter, “Thank you.”

The mother and son walk off, and I glance around, straining to see through the crowd of people surging through the museum. I wander through the people, looking through each exhibit until I find one labeled  _ The Howling Commandos _ .

Something pulls me in there, and I am immediately greeted by a large glass pane with white writing and a black and white photograph printed on it. The more I stared at the photograph, the more I recognized it as myself. The closer I got to the glass, the more I could read it, and the clearer the voice from the speaker above it became. “Inseparable in both schoolyard and battlefield, Barnes was the only Howling Commando to give his life for his country.”

James Buchanan Barnes was Stephen Rogers’ childhood best friend. He was telling the truth. This is who I am, that much is clear, but why don’t I remember?

Pierce. It had to be him. It’s the only explanation. He sent me after Steve. He was there when I was shoved into that machine that drained me away. 

HYDRA did this.


	4. Chapter 4

I rush out of the museum as quickly as I can, my head aching with each step. The walls of the museum seem to press in on me from every direction. Even after I made it outside, it doesn’t feel like there was enough air in the world to fill my aching lungs.

Everything he said is real. 

My name is Bucky. Steve Rogers is my friend. 

But I tried to kill him. I was ordered to. I had to kill him--and part of me is still being pulled back to the river where I left him so that I can finish the job. 

The world is tilting underneath me. I need to get away from here.

I stumble off in a random direction, straining to get my feet under me. I go as far away from that museum as I can get, but it’s not far enough. The moon eventually comes directly above me, so I must have been walking for hours. 

Every part of me hurts. I didn’t get too injured on the tarmac, but I still took quite the beating, and I can barely keep my eyes open. I wander into a trash-filled alleyway and slip down to the ground. I hide myself in the shadows and close my eyes, resting my head on the hard uniform I had with me. It isn’t comfortable, but it’s better than the cracked, concrete ground. I drift off to sleep quickly.

* * *

_ "You died screaming. Yet the one who takes your place is silent. You are a weapon, and weapons do not weep,” Zola growls as I lay on the ground. _

_ My face is wet, and there is hot blood underneath me. How long have I been here? I can barely remember. They try to erase me every day. It hurts so much that part of me wonders why I even try to fight it. They’re going to win eventually. I can’t go on like this. _

_ But Steve will find me soon. He’ll bust in here with the other Howling Commandos like in the labor camp. He will. And I need to know him when he does. I need to recognize that he’s here to help me. _

_ “You’re still waiting for him?” Zola shouts, delivering a sharp kick to my stomach that robbed me of my air.  _ _ I cry out and try to quell the dull throbbing in my abdomen, but it just blended in with the rest of the constant pain.  _ _ “Steve Rogers thinks you’re dead,” Zola hisses. “They all think you’re dead. There is no extraction team.” _

_ “N-no,” I mutter, instantly regretting saying anything at all, but I keep going. I have to say it. I have to keep it fresh in my mind or I will disappear entirely. “Th-they’ll find me. They will. They will.” _

_ Zola chuckles darkly. “Steve Rogers--” _

_ “They will.” _

_ “--is dead,” he finishes. _

_ I freeze and look up at him. No. Steve can’t be dead. He’s a kid who got himself into trouble five too many times, but he’s survived more than I have. He can’t be dead. _

_ “Your Captain is dead,” Zola repeated, “and your…’death’ had been lost in the noise of his.”  _ _ Zola opened his blood-splashed suit jacket, and I instinctively lower my gaze, my breathing picking up with my heart rate. He dropped something onto the floor. “Read this, Soldat,” he orders. _

_ I automatically force myself up and look down at the paper Zola had dropped on the floor. There was a photograph of Steve in his Captain America get-up under the headline, " _ Captain America Crashes into the Ocean."  _ I skim the words underneath it again and again. Steve crashed a plane, ending the War, but at the cost of his life. There is a small picture of Peggy and Howard and a quote from them both saying that they were talking with him when the plane went down. The reporter said that Steve was dead. _

_ “Your Captain’s not coming,” Zola said again, “and neither is anyone else. So stop fighting.” _

_ Stop fighting? If there was no one coming for me, I might as well. It would stop hurting if I did. _

_ But I can’t. Not yet. They would use me if I did. Not yet. I can’t give in yet. I can hold out. Just a little longer. Peggy and Howard are my friends, too. If Steve can’t come, they will. Just a little longer. _

_ Zola grumbles quietly before looking up at the others around us. “Try again,” he ordered. “I think we’ll have better luck this time.” _

_ Armed guards grabbed my bare arms and picked me up, dragging me away, but I barely felt it. What I read in the paper had numbed me. I can’t believe it. It had to be a fake paper or something, but I had no way to deny it. I had to remind myself every day what my own name is. I can’t spare the concentration to try to disprove it. _

_ They threw me down into the chair and strapped me in. I can’t remember exactly what this machine does to me, but my body does. My breathing picks up as the restraints tighten more and more. This is going to hurt. I know it is. _

_ My head is forced sharply backwards, and machinery whirred around me. My heart hammers in my chest as the pain started. It wasn’t long until my vision blackened, but it was different this time. The pain went for Steve. It attacked every image I had of him, poisoning the memories with a pain that I didn’t think it had before. The pain intensified more and more until it reached such an unbearable peak that I forgot his name. _

* * *

I jump as I wake. The sun is just starting to rise, filling the alleyway I found myself in with light. 

Where am I again? I know I walked here, but where did I walk from? And wasn’t I ordered to kill someone?

I hiss, and my hand flies to my temple to try and quell the rising pain, as I remember the museum, the mother and her son: Amanda and Jason.

Right. I’m laying low. Staying out of the way and disappearing. But I can’t do that if I forget where I am again.

I glance around the trash-filled alley and spot a dusty and bent spiral notebook spilling out if a torn trash bag. I get up from the ground and cross the dirt-covered ground towards it. I pick it up and find a heavily scratched pen shoved into the broken binding. I carefully open it and find child’s drawings. There were spaceships and dinosaurs combined with pink castles and magic wands. I move to rip them out so I could use the other papers, but the more I thumbed through them, the less I wanted to. Looking at them made the corners of my mouth drift up for some reason.

I flip to the last few pages and find an unmarked one. I take the pen out of he spiral binding and click it open. I rest the notebook on my metal arm and point the old pen directly up and down to write, but there wasn’t much I could say.

_ My name is Bucky. Steve Rogers is my friend. HYDRA erased me. _

I want to write more, but that’s all I have. 

I glance back down at the torn trash bag and find a strap sticking out of it. I place the notebook on the ground and rip the bag open further. Half-used and broken crayons, other notebooks and crumpled school papers from years ago spilled out along with a dusty backpack. I take the backpack and open it. There is nothing inside, so I reach for the uniform that served as my pillow during the night and stuff it inside. I put the notebook I wrote in inside after it. 

A growl sounds, and I instantly look up, scanning the surroundings for its source. The growl comes again, and I stand up to get a better angle, but there was nothing there. 

A dull aching radiates from my torso, and though my entire body is still sore from the battle on the tarmac yesterday, it feels different than a stiff muscle. I put a hand to my stomach as the growl sounds again. 

It’s me. My stomach is growling. I’m hungry.


	5. Chapter 5

I wander around the city block as morning traffic commences. The longer I walk, the worse the pain in my stomach grows. I need to eat, but I can’t remember having ever eaten anything before. I don’t know which food to eat or even what anything tastes like. I don’t know where to get food besides a store, and none are open because of how early it is. 

The longer I walk, the shorter the buildings become, and the more space there is between them. After a while, the sun officially rises, the traffic picks up, and people spill out onto the streets. Few cars pull into a gas station I come across, and there is a small store behind it. A large truck pulls up next to the store, and a man appears behind it. He opens up the back of the truck and starts to unload boxes, placing them on a trolley. The boxes were labeled with images and words like “Lays” and “Chex Mix”. I don’t know what those are, but it might be food.

I slink behind the building and cling to the shadows as another man comes out and takes more boxes out of the truck. He places them on the ground and turns back for more as the first man comes back out with the trolley again. I sneak closer to them and scan the boxes. There was one filled with small plastic-wrapped packages labeled “granola bars” that looked like it would last me for a while if I rationed it right. 

When they both had their backs turned to me, I rushed over to the truck and stayed hidden in the shadows next to it, pressing myself against the side of the truck. The first man comes back out and loads up the trolley again with a yawn before turning back around and heading back into the store. I take quiet steps closer to the pile of boxes as another box of the granola bars drops in front of me. I instantly snatch it up and back away. I wait for a few seconds, but the man in the truck continued to drop boxes onto the ground.

I let out a silent breath I didn’t realize I was holding and continue to move closer to the front of the truck so I wouldn’t be seen. 

The box I snagged is large, so I don’t think I can store all of it, and something is nagging at me that makes me feel bad about taking it. I need it more than these more than those workers do, but it’s also their job to not let things go missing. Who knows what their bosses will do to them for failing in their mission. 

I rip the box open and empty out half of the granola bars inside. That gave me about thirty, so if I ate three a day, I’d only have enough for ten days, but it would have to do until I could find more. Their bosses might still consider the thirty missing bars as a failure, but at least their punishment might be lighter.

I take the backpack off, stuff the plastic-wrapped bars inside and zip it back up. I shoulder the pack again and stand up, taking the box with me. I sneak back towards the workers and slide the box back where I found it. 

I walk off and continue down the street, the sun rising behind me more and more. It’s probably a good idea for me to leave this city. That Captain--what was his name again? Steve?--Steve might be looking for me, and it’s a bad idea for us to interact. Two entirely conflicting emotions battle inside of me whenever I think of him. Before, I could only register a hard focus that blocked out everything else. He was my mission, so I only felt that I had to kill him. Now, I feel worried for him. Worried for his health, his safety. But at the same time I still feel that he should die. The order that Pierce gave me still rattles around inside me, and the more I think about it, the stronger it becomes. 

I shake my head and force the order down. I might not know how, but Steve is my friend. I can’t kill him, but I’m still drawn back to the river where I left him. It’s best for him if I leave the city.

My stomach growls again, sending another dull wave of pain through my torso. I take one arm out of the pack I’m wearing and swing it in front of me as I walk. I open it and take one of the granola bars out before closing it again and slipping my metal arm back through the strap. I tear the plastic wrapping around it and find granola, nuts and chocolate chips being held together by sticky caramel. I take the smallest of bites to test it and find it to be simultaneously sweet and salty. I also discover that I like chocolate chips. The entire bar disappears after a second. It’s not much of a first meal, but it tasted so good that I have to force myself not to reach back into the pack for another.

The longer I walk, the more my mind drifts. I repeatedly analyze my dream from last night. There was so much pain and blood, and it was all mine. The man that stood over me and told me that Steve was dead, I know that I know his name. It starts with a Z, but that’s all I can remember. If that dream was a memory at all. I hope it isn’t. I would hate to learn that my entire life was created by pain. 

_ “HYDRA doesn’t take prisoners. There is only order, and order only comes through pain.” _

The faint, remembered voice sounds like the man in my dream, but I can’t be sure. 

What exactly did HYDRA erase? Everything? My name, my friends, even my birthday. I know nothing about myself. Whatever happened must have taken a long time, so it would take an even longer time to remember, but I’m prepared for however long it will take. I  _ will _ remember. And when the time comes--when whatever HYDRA did to me disappears--I will find Steve again and apologize for everything. I don’t know if I’ve tried to kill him in the past, but it didn’t matter. Once was enough. No one should kill anyone, let alone their friend.

I glance down an alleyway as I pass it, but when I get only a few feet from it, something stops me. I stand there for a minute, trying to figure out what had me frozen. Eventually, I turn around and glance down the alley. I check every part of it, but find nothing. What am I looking for?

* * *

I walk until noon, and without water, I can’t carry on until I got some. I’m on the edge of the city now, and a large park extends in front of me. There are children and parents and pet dogs playing with each other in the grass and on the metal and plastic playset. A woman takes a sip of water from a hard, black bottle before putting it back down by the rest of her things and running back off to join her young daughter.

As the pair ran off, I took small, quick steps towards her bottle. I don’t want to steal from them, but I need water desperately, and I don’t have any money to buy it. I take another granola bar out of the pack and drop it on top of the woman’s things in exchange for the bottle. 

I lose myself in the crowds of people in the park as I take a drink from the bottle. The water was warm, but still soothed my dry throat. I finish the already half-drunk bottle quickly and scan the park for a place to refill it. I spot a green water fountain and wander over to it. I fill the bottle with the slightly colder water and move on from the park. 

The best thing for me and for him would be to leave the country entirely. Steve will definitely be looking for me, but he can’t find me. I might kill him if he does. I can’t remember if I’ve ever been outside of the country, but I’m going to be soon. I can stow away on a ship or something.

My stomach growls again, but I can’t eat another granola bar. I just gave one to that woman in exchange for her bottle of water. I have to ration, and something tells me that I’ve gone with less food than this.

* * *

The sun is almost gone when I finally reached the middle of nowhere. As I walked, I came across the occasional gas station, but it’s only highways and trees now. 

I back into the treeline and finally sit down on the dirt ground. I had only drank half of the water bottle because I’m also rationing the water, but I take a drink now, and it instantly dispels the scratchiness in my throat. I eat another of the granola bars and take out the spiral notebook with the children’s drawings. 

I thumb through the simplistic and colorful sketches, and the corners of my mouth twitch upwards as I do. I briefly wondered if the children who drew in this notebook had metal arms, too, or if I’m the only one in the world.

I take off my left glove and inspect the gleaming silver of my hand. Why is my arm metal? It’s fused into my skin at the shoulder, and I can feel the metal extending further under my skin and deeper into my body. Its weight makes what was left of my shoulder hurt terribly. I don’t think that people are born with metal arms, but for some reason, I have one. Why? 

As the last rays of sunlight disappear, I put my glove back on and lay on the ground, resting my head on the pack. 

I know very little about myself, but I recite what I do know out loud so that I can hear it. “My name is Bucky. Steve Rogers is my friend. HYDRA erased me.”

I sigh when it’s finished. I wish I knew more, but I don’t. Whenever I look back, there’s just blackness and pain. But I know there’s more. There has to be.

* * *

_ “Yeah, and I threw up?” Steve confirmed as I glanced up to the top of the unstable zipline we were about to ride down. _

_ “This isn’t payback, is it?” I wondered, getting Steve to laugh lightly. _

_ All too soon, we were sliding down the line, speeding towards the moving cargo train. We dropped down on top of it, and I followed Steve down into it. I held my rifle steady as we moved slowly through the freight car. It was filled with weapons of all sorts. Weapons that I was forced to make that were powered by the Tesseract. If they made it to their destination along with Zola, the War would be lost. _

_ As Steve crossed through a door, it suddenly slid shut behind him. I froze before I ran into the door as something banged behind me. I jumped and turned to find a tall man in a heavy, white suit of armor repeatedly firing glowing, blue shots at me. _

_ I ducked behind a crate and fired off as many bullets as I could, but I couldn’t get a good enough angle on him. He was too obscured by the rest of the shelves and crates. My rifle ran dry, and I had only managed to wound him. I had a pistol left. After that, he was going to kill me. I lean around the crate and fire off shots as I move to better cover. I only had so many bullets. He’s going to kill me. _

_ I fire off the remaining shots in the pistol, but those bullets were just as useless as the ones before it. _

_ The door near me slides open, and my heart jumps, thinking it’s another soldier, but Steve leans through it instead. He holds up another pistol, and I nod. Steve tossed me the gun and I caught it bringing it up towards the soldier again.  _

_ Steve suddenly burst through the door and ramed his shield into one of the crates of weapons. The crate impacted the soldier and threw it off balance, and I fired the new gun, shooting him in the chest. _

_ “I had him on the ropes,” I voiced, dispelling my shaken nerves with the comment. _

_ “I know,” he sighs. _

_ A blue shot comes from behind us, and we both lean to the side. It misses us by inches and blasts through the side of the freight car. Another soldier was marching up to us as wind and snow billowed through the train car. I dropped my gun with the surprise shot, but I quickly picked it up again along with Steve’s shield. I fire off shots towards the soldier and put the shield in front of me as I advanced towards Steve. He was more exposed than I was.  _

_ A Tesseract-powered shot hit me with so much force that it threw me backwards, and the shield slipped from my grasp. I scramble to grasp the hand rail clinging to the torn side of the freight car before I could fall. I cling to it with all my might, but it was freezing outside, and the metal was colder. It sliced through my skin, making it three times harder to hang on than the speed of the train was already making it. _

_ “Bucky!” I look up to find Steve clinging to the side of the freight car with his hand outstretched. “Grab my hand!” _

_ I tentatively let go of the shaking bar and reach for him. He was so close. Just a centimeter more. _

_ The train car shuddered, and the trembling bar snapped off of the torn metal wall. My fingertips grazed Steve’s glove, but I didn’t grab hold. I’d take him down with me if I did. _

_ I fell down, down, down, and the train disappeared so quickly. The fall was so fast that I almost didn’t register that it happened. I hit trees and rocks, and my left arm hurt so badly. _

_ I landed in the snow and rested there for a moment. The last car of the train disappeared around a bend, and all I could think was that I was glad it was me who fell instead of Steve. People needed him more than me.  _

_ My vision spun, and my arm hurt. I tried to lift my head to assess my injuries, but I couldn’t. I was too tired. I let my eyes close, drifting in the darkness. _


	6. Chapter 6

I jump as I wake and then groan in pain. My shoulder screamed in pain. I reach up and massage my shoulder, and though it made the muscle feel better, it only made the skin that was fused to the metal more irritated.

According to my memory, I’ve only slept twice, and both times were terribly restless. I almost wake up _more_ tired than when I fell asleep. The nightmares are somehow draining, though some part of me knows that the dreams I’ve had were not just dreams. They felt more real than that.

I take the notebook out again and flip to what I wrote earlier--yesterday. I don’t read what I wrote and cover it with my hand. My memory slips too much. I can barely remember the fact that I fought with the Capt--Steve--on the tarmac only two days ago. I need to memorize the information. It might make it easier for the rest of me to come back.  I click the pen open and begin to write on the paper, writing whatever comes to mind under the heading “Day Two”. “ _ Steve is my friend. We fought together. I lost my arm when I fell off a train. HYDRA made me try to kill Steve. My name is” _

I freeze. What was it that Steve called me? I force myself to think about it harder and harder, but I only succeed in giving myself a headache. The only thing that comes to mind is Soldat, but that just means “soldier” in Russian. 

I move my hand and glance at what I wrote yesterday. “ _ My name is Bucky. _ ”  Bucky. It’s an odd name, but I like it. It’s better than Soldier.

I rewrite the name under Day Two and close up the notebook. I place the notebook back in the pack and take out a granola bar. I unwrap it as I start to talk aloud. “Bucky. But Steve called me James...something. How do you get Bucky out of James?”

I take a bite of the granola bar as Steve’s words on the crashing helicarrier drift into my mind. “ _ Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. _ ”

“Must have been the Buchanan part,” I mutter.

The granola bar was finished quickly, and I take two quick swigs of the warm water before stowing it back in the bag. I need to refill it, but I’m not in a park, and it’s not like there’s a water fountain on the side of the highway.

I stand and swing the backpack over my shoulder. I step out of the trees and continue in the same direction as I was going yesterday.

* * *

After a few hours of walking, I come across a sign that said there were fast food places and gas stations up at the next exit. I find my way there after another hour and discover several whole blocks filled with gas stations and fast food restaurants. I don’t have any money, but one of these places might at least have a water fountain inside.

I slowly walk through the door of a small shop behind a gas station and glance around the place. It is filled with food both packaged and fresh. The smells of baking make my mouth water. I look towards the back and find bathrooms with a water fountain in between. At least I didn’t have to steal water, too.  I move through the shelves and the few people in the shop towards the water fountain. I take the bottle out of my bag and drink the remaining mouthful in the bottle. I fill it with water from the fountain and find it to be cold. I won’t have to drink warm water for a few hours.

I screw the top back on the bottle and stow it back in the bag as I take another look around the place. There were three rotating cameras in the room. They rotated at the same rate but were angled differently, which makes a blindspot between them all every minute or so. I could snag something different to eat and last longer without having to steal at all.

I slowly approach the counter in front of me as I waited for the cameras to create their own blindspot. There were fruits resting in baskets on the counter: oranges, limes, and what looked like plums. I would have enough time to grab just two.  A second after I reached the counter, the cameras turned, and the blindspot was created. I quickly snagged an orange and a plum from their baskets and slipped them into my pockets. 

“Excuse me,” a voice asked.

I took a step backwards as a woman in a worker’s uniform squeezes between me and the counter carrying a box. I tense as she passes, fearing that she’ll notice my bulging jacket pockets, but I forced the paranoia down. She couldn’t tell the difference between my hands in the pockets and the fruit. 

The tv behind the checkout counter clicks on and changes to the mid-morning news and it displays a photograph of a familiar man with in a suit. “The billionaire has asked that we give Captain America--also known as Steve Rogers--his privacy as he leaves the hospital after the battle on the tarmac in DC where he supposedly battled the Winter Soldier--a highly trained assassin--though the reports are unconfirmed,” the newscaster states.

The picture of the familiar man expands until it takes up the entire screen and plays a video. “Steve heals fast, so he doesn’t want to spend too much time in the hospital. He’s moving back into the Avengers Tower with the rest of us while he finishes recovering and has asked that he not be bothered by the press.”

The picture fades out and the news caster reappears. “That was what billionaire Tony Stark had to say on the subject.”

Tony Stark. I don’t know anyone named Tony, but Stark sounded just as familiar as the man looked.  “Stark,” I mutter under my breath, trying to bring the memory that’s tugging at the corner of my mind into focus. It’s dark and cold. A winter night. I’m moving quickly and a car crashes. 

“Stark,” I whisper again as my chest tightens. 

The world tilts underneath my, and my head starts to ache. Last time this happened, I ended up on the ground. I can’t do this here.  I unsteadily make my way back towards the door, narrowly avoiding running into several shelves. 

Stark. I know someone named Stark. He looked just like the Tony on the news, too. I can’t remember exactly what he looked like, but he looked like Tony.

I somehow manage to make it outside and stumble down the road to a less trafficked area. There were still people, but no one would notice me here.  The world gives one last tilt, and I fall to the ground, my head pounding with each breath. I manage to sit myself up and lean against the bus bench, but the memory still takes me, my heart beating impossibly fast.

* * *

_ “Where are we going?” Steve asked. _

_ “The future,” I stated, tossing his forged papers over my shoulder. _

_ We made our way to the science expo as the sun set and met up with the two girls I had scheduled the date with.  _

_ There were so many fascinating experiments and interesting ideas here that when they worked, they would change the world. But I couldn’t wait until Howard Stark got on stage. The brochure said he would be unveiling a flying car! It’s entirely impossible, but if you had the money and resources--which Stark did--you could probably make anything happen. _

_ The sun was down and the sky was dark by the time Stark appeared with a red car surrounded by showgirls. “What if I told you,” he announced, “that in just a few short years, your car wouldn’t have to touch the ground at all?” _

_ Stark held up a remote and clicked a button. The car’s tires turned inward and the air wavered around them like it was heated. The car actually floated a few feet up off of the ground! I didn’t care if it was just some stage trick, it was still amazing to see. _

_ I checked behind me and found Steve staring at the floating car, too. Maybe he was enjoying himself again. He hasn’t since the War started. I smiled at him before turning back to Stark. _

_ The tires of the car sparked before the entire vehicle smoked and came crashing back down onto the stage.  _ _ Stark glanced between the car and us in the crowd for a few seconds before holding the microphone up again and laughing lightly. “Well, I did say a few years, didn’t I?” _

_ “Hey, Steve!” I laughed. “Isn’t this…” I trailed off as I turned around to find Steve missing. _

_ Steve just got beaten up in another alley. What if he inhales some of the chemicals here and dies? Or if he just happens to find some stairs and trips down them? Steve could survive a lot, but it could still lead to him being bedridden for weeks if he breaks something or gets sick. _

_ “Bucky!” one of the girls groaned. “Come one!” She tugs on my hand. _

_ “Just a sec,” I say. “Sorry. Gotta find Steve. If he gets himself lost, I’m gonna kill him.” _

_ I walked off and searched everywhere I can think of. Eventually, I spot a place for army recruitment. Of course he went there.  _ _ Steve’s small form comes into view, and he steps up to a platform that would reflect your face in an army uniform, but he was only tall enough for half of his head to be seen in the reflection. _

The memory becomes faint and changes, this scene clearer than the last.

_ I toss a grenade near the back tires of the speeding car. A loud pop sounds with a bright flash and the car swerved off the road, impacting a tree. _

_ “No witnesses,” they said. If the passengers aren’t already dead, they’re about to be. _

_ A door on the car opens as I dismount the motorcycle. I walk through the crunching glass as a woman’s voice calls, “Howard?” _

_ I rip the car’s trunk open to be that what they need is inside, then round the car and find an aged man with white hair and a mustache dressed in a suit. He crawls on the ground, cutting himself on the glass. I take hold of his hair and lift him up. He cries out and tries to pry my hand off. _

_ “Howard!” the woman calls again. _

_ The man freezes as he looks up at me. “Sergeant Barnes?” _

_ Barnes? Why do I know that name? _

_ Their orders echo in my mind as I start to lose focus. “No witnesses.” _

_ I fist my silver hand and repeatedly punch him, bashing in the face so much that he dies, the woman in the car screaming his name. Blood drips from my hand as I hoist him back into the driver’s car seat. I lean his forehead against the steering wheel. I close the door as I leave, making it look like the impact is what killed him. _

_ The woman fumbles with her seat belt as I move to her side of the car. She freezes as I come closer, and I reach through the broken window and wrap my hand around her throat. She chokes and struggles, trying to force my hand away, but after a few seconds, she loses consciousness. I keep my hand around her throat for a few minutes more to make sure she was dead and wrap the seat belt around her neck when I’m finished. _

_ I check the street lamps and powerline poles for any cameras and find one hanging from a lamp post near the car. I lift the gun from my belt and fire a single bullet into the camera, shattering it to pieces.  _

_ I go to the trunk and open up the silver case inside of it to make sure the contents is inside and unharmed. I take the case and close the trunk. I get back on the motorcycle and drive off. _

* * *

I snap my eyes open as the memory stops. The headache is still there, but my breathing and heart were both slowing. 

Howard Stark. He was an inventor with a wife. The man on the tv--Tony--looked enough like him to be his son. 

I killed Howard Stark and his wife. I orphaned Tony.

My heart sped back up with the realization. 

I orphaned Tony. How old was he when I killed them? I hope he was an adult able to take care of himself by then, but I have no way of knowing. He might as well have been a baby for all I know.  But if he was a baby, he would have been adopted, and he wouldn’t have been old enough to keep his parents’ last name. He had to at least be old enough to have some memories of them.

The rationalization does not help. I still feel like the worst person alive.

Why did HYDRA even keep me alive? They must have found me after I fell off of that train, so I was near death. Why keep me alive? Why? I killed Howard Stark, orphaned his son, nearly killed Steve, and I’m sure countless others. Why would they make me do that? 

I should have fought them. Why didn’t I fight them? If I fought them, Stark would still be alive, and Tony would have a father and mother. Why didn’t I fight longer? 

The longer I think about the limited memories I have, the more my heart races again. The memory of killing Stark replayed inside of my mind over and over again. I could almost feel the breaking of Stark’s skin and nose against my metal knuckles. 

I do want to remember, but right now, I want to forget again. I don’t want this memory in my head anymore. 

I take the notebook and pen back out again and add to the “Day Two” heading. “ _ I knew a man named Howard Stark. I murdered him and his wife, orphaning their son. _ ”

Writing minimal descriptions like this was better than not writing at all, but I probably should write more detail in case I forget again. Overall, I want to remember, but it seems like it will be a painful process.

“ _ It was December, so it was cold, _ ” I continue to write. “ _ I rode a motorcycle and made their car crash with a grenade. I killed them both after they crashed. Stark knew me. He called me ‘Sergeant Barnes’. I made it look like the crash killed them and shot a security camera. I stole a case filled with ice and a serum from their trunk and rode back to my handlers. _ ”

The more I wrote, the more my memory stirred, and I wrote what came to mind. 

“ _ They said, ‘Well done, Soldier’ in Russian, took me back to Siberia and froze me. They only spoke to me in Russian and hurt me when I spoke English. They put me into cryogenic freeze when they were done with me. _ ”

I tried to write more, but the ink in the pen suddenly ran dry, so it only made deep scratches on the paper. I groan in frustration and throw the dry pen into the street. I couldn’t go back into the same store to get another pen because I already stole the fruit from them. I shove the notebook back into the bag and stand, swinging the pack onto my shoulder. 

I cross the street to the next gas station and peer through the windows of the shop behind it. It seemed to have the same kind of rotating cameras as the last store, though they rotated at different rates. There was still a blindspot, but it was shorter than the last one. 

I walk in and scan the shelves as I walk through the store. There are several small packages of pens hanging off the side of one of the shelves. I slow my speed and wait till the blindspot appears where I am. No one was in the store, and the young clerk at the checkout counter was distracted with her phone. I take one of the packages and stuff it inside of my already full pockets. 

There’s also bread left out in the open. It smells freshly baked. My mouth waters as I wonder what bread even tastes like. Normal people know these things. The fact only makes me more angry towards HYDRA. I can’t remember what bread tastes like, and it’s their fault.

I keep myself in the moving blindspot of the cameras and make sure that the clerk is continually distracted. I swipe one of the rolls and stuff it in my other pocket that had the plum in it. I pretend to look around the rest of the shelves as I make my way towards the door. I slip out of the shop and walk as quickly as I can without drawing suspicion. 

I walk until I make it back to the highway. I take both of my gloves off and take the bread out of my pocket with my metal hand. I stuff the gloves in my back pocket and concentrate on the bread in my silver hand. It was warm, but I barely felt it. The more I concentrated on it, the stronger the warmth becomes. I put the bread in my other hand for comparison and found it to be so much warmer than my metal hand said it was.

I tear a piece of the roll off and pop it into my mouth. It was good. Rich, but good. Chocolate and bread were the two things I know that I like to eat. I finish the roll and take another drink from the bottle and continue walking.

I take my direction from the sun and head east towards the ocean. I don’t know exactly how far it is, but I’ll get there eventually, and when I do, I’ll leave the country. It’s what’s best for the both of Steve and I. 

When will I stop feeling like I need to kill him? Part of me is still anxious about the incomplete mission. I get hurt when I don’t do things right. 

I glance over my shoulder and find nobody following me.

I’m alone. I’m alone. I’m alone.

No matter how many times I repeat it in my mind, it doesn’t shake the feeling that HYDRA is five seconds away from shooting me in the head. I failed them, so they have every right to kill me.


	7. Chapter 7

I keep moving for several weeks, sometimes walking, sometimes running. According to the journal I’ve been writing in, over a month passed. I eat the bare minimum, rationing granola bars, fruit, bread, and whatever else I could get my hands on. I refill the water bottle at every water fountain I can find, keeping the water fresh. I acquire more pens and paper, sometimes in journals and sometimes random sheets from printers. I mark down how many days past and everything I dream of or remember.

Remembering was so painful. If it comes to me in a dream, I was so scared, and I wake up even more terrified. They were always dreams of death. Someone always died. I always killed someone. Fathers, mothers. Once I was supposed to kill a man, but he was home with his family. I was given an order of no witnesses again. I had to kill them all. I killed their little boy first. Even as the Winter Soldier, some part of me was awake enough to prevent him from having to see his parents die. I’ve had six dreams of people I’ve killed. I’ve more than killed six people. 

But it was HYDRA. They made me kill. I didn’t choose it. I was forced to. They hurt me until I became what they wanted. If I didn’t kill for them, they would start over. I was forced to.

But even then, I could still remember what happened. How it felt. I felt almost nothing when I killed them, but what I did feel was fear, anger, disgust. They were all towards myself. Despite my situation, I was still awake. Awake enough to know what I was doing when I killed them. 

But I wasn’t sure if the fear, anger and disgust I felt then were only my current emotions coloring the memories or not, and I’m not sure which was better. If I was feeling those emotions now, that means I broke free of them, but that also means that I felt nothing at all when I killed them. It meant that I was a monster that killed without thought or feeling.  But if what I felt in the memories was real, it means that I was awake when I did it. That I wasn’t entirely controlled. It means that I could have refused the order, fought back. I had the choice to not kill them. 

It’s not a question of which was better. It’s a question of which is worse. 

But I’m awake now, though I continually have to remind myself that there is no one over my shoulder waiting with a gun and that no one is following me. 

I remember better things when I’m not dreaming. I remember Steve and Peggy and Howard. They were all good friends back then. Howard is dead--meaning that Peggy likely was as well, but Steve isn’t. Why isn’t he dead? And why does he look the same? Howard looked aged when I killed him, but Steve didn’t when we fought on the helicarrier.  I know the answer lies somewhere in the back of my mind, but it’s so hidden away that it might take a while to come back. It seems that my mind wants me to know the deaths that I’ve caused before I remember anything else. Why can’t I remember something that lets me know that my life isn’t entirely made up of death and pain?

* * *

A cold, grey ocean gradually came into view as the sun set. There were ships in port and people running around, locking up for the day. 

This was it. Once everyone settles down, I can walk around the dock and get a layout of the place. Then the next morning, I can stow away in a crate or something. They will take me to a new continent, and I can start to figure everything out. Get a fresh start away from my old order. Maybe I’ll even forget the anxiety that still draws me back to the river I left him at. 

I couldn’t tell if that pull was dimming or not. It only influenced my movements occasionally. My mind would drift as I walked, and I’d get a little dizzy. When I focused again, I found myself taking steps back the way I came. The pull and anxiety needed to stop soon or I would kill Steve, and that is the last thing I want to do.

I duck into the thin treeline and wait until the workers turned out their lights and disappeared. After a second or two of waiting, I brought out the keychain flashlight I lifted off of a man who bumped into me while he was on a midnight run. I click on the pale blue light and slowly walked through the docks. I find a ship that had several shipping containers next to it. I tap on the side of one of the metal containers, and the tap echoes inside. It’s empty or close to. They’ll fill it in the morning, but it’ll be a good place to stow away in.

I retreat back into the trees and settle down in the foliage. The pack I’m using has grown bulkier over the past month, filling with packaged food and disposable plastic bottles of water, but I rest my head on it anyways. I let my heavy eyes close and lay there for a few moments, but as my mind starts to drift, images of a cold, snowy place that my mind automatically dubbed Siberia appeared behind my closed eyelids.

It almost looked like the ravine I fell into when I lost my arm.

_ “Bucky! Grab my hand!” _

_ “Sergeant Barnes…Put him on ice…” _

I jump and sit up, glancing around me as my heart beat so quickly that it threatened to break my ribs. The trees were still dark, and there were no lights in coming from the dock. Anyone could sneak up on me in this darkness. 

I shake my head and rub my eyes to try to get myself to wake up. There is no one here. No one has followed me all this time. No one has caught up with me. 

A bird calls, and the leaves rustle, making me jump. It was just a bird. I’m still okay. HYDRA hasn’t caught up with me yet. I can outrun them, and if they ever catch up to me, I will kill every last one of them.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know I updated yesterday, but all of these quarantine days are starting to blur together, and it feels like three days ago. So here you go!

I jump as I wake from another nightmare about Zola and Pierce again. One of them always appears in my dreams. During some of those dreams, I actually think Pierce is Steve. After they used that machine on me, my mind was so scrambled that the blond hair and pale skin of a younger Pierce somehow got confused with my fading memories of Steve. 

The wind races through the trees, and the leaves move, letting me see the dock beyond. The sun was up, and people were moving about, opening the place up and moving crates into the large, metal shipping containers.

I unzip the backpack and drink the last mouthful of water from one of the disposable plastic water bottles. I have two full disposable ones and half of the hard black one left. I don’t know how long this trip will take--a week or two minimum--so I’ll have to ration even more drastically than I already am.

I swing the pack over my shoulder and stand. I wait until most everyone has their back turned to me and slipped out of the tree cover. I keep to the shadows as best as I can in this nearly full sunlight. I go behind the small building that must be their control building and wait, watching the workers. They were blocking the path to the metal shipping containers. I had to wait for them to move before I could slip inside.

“James!” a voice calls and I nearly jump.

“ _ Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. _ ”

“Come on!” the same voice orders.

It’s not Steve. Just one of the workers.

“Alright! I’m comin’!” a man shouts. Must be James. The man appears in front of me with a yellow package in his hand. “I haven’t had breakfast yet!”

“Doesn’t matter! We’ve got a quota!”

James groans and unwraps the package in his hands. He takes a bite of whatever was inside before placing it on the bench in front of me. He walks off towards the dock filled with shipping containers and forklifts. 

I don’t have much food left. A handful of granola bars, an apple and a roll I got two days ago. Looks like his sandwich is going to be my breakfast.  “I’m sorry, James,” I mutter, “but I need this more than you do.”

I come out of the shadows, quickly snatch up James’ yellow package and move towards the shipping containers. I pressed myself up against the back an open container as a forklift backed out of the open doors so I couldn’t be seen by the two guards in the front. 

I bend down and pick up a small stone. I wait until the forklift had turned around and throw the rock towards the two men standing guard on either side, aiming towards the wall of the container. The stone clangs against the side of their container and both of them turn towards me. The one closer to me takes a few steps towards me while the other one takes his spot and watches after him.

I slip around the back of the container, tapping the wall of the container with my gloved metal hand to keep him interested in the sound. I keep tapping as I go around the container until I reach the end of it. I rush towards the other container and cling to its side as I make my way around it. I peak around the corner and make sure that workers are still loading up the forklift and that the other man is still distracted. 

The forklift beeps, so I slip into the container and quickly force myself into the small space between the back wall and the other crate of supplies they had place in here before. If my left arm was flesh rather than metal, it would be a lot easier to squish myself into this position. The unyielding metal made it more difficult, but it wasn’t impossible.

My head aches, and the world starts to tilt again as the metal container rattles. I force myself to maintain my focus as the forklift slides into view and deposits another crate before backing up.

I’m completely covered now. As long as I keep quiet and still, they won’t notice me. I can let the memory take me for now.

I close my eyes and focus on the memory. Steve was there and so was a girl. We were in some kind of carnival, and I was trying to do one of those shooter games to win that girl one of the prizes hanging off of the wall of the carnie's game.

* * *

_ “Come on, Steve, just let me try one more time,” I asked, glancing at Dot who smiled and laughed. _

_ Steve sighed before rummaging through his pocket and pulling out our last two coins and slapping them on the counter. “You sure? We won’t have any money to get home.” _

_ “I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” I dismissed, entirely focused on Dot. _

_ Steve pulled his hand away from the counter, and the carnie gladly took the money. He took the toy gun from my hands and reloaded it with three more shots before passing it back to me. I took the gun and took careful aim.  _

_ I had shot this gun enough times to know that it doesn’t shoot quite straight. I adjusted my aim to be slightly to the left and above the target and took the shot.  _ _ The toy popped, and the plastic pellet that served as ammo bounced off of the wall the target was hanging off of. Exactly where I had aimed.  _

_ I took aim again on the center of the target and fired the second shot. This pellet hit just above the target.  _

_ I suppressed a groan of frustration as I lowered my aim a little. This was my last shot and the last of our money. Dot wanted this prize but this stupid gun wouldn’t shoot right. One minute it shoots exactly as I aimed, and the next it shoots five feet away. _

_ I shot again, and the last plastic pellet bounced off of the wall below the target. _

_ The carnie laughed as I lowered the toy gun down onto the counter. “Sorry, kid,” he mocked. “Try again?” _

_ I shook my head and turned to my girl. “Sorry, Dot.” I walked away from the counter, and she comes with. “That gun is rigged. It does  _ not _ shoot straight.” _

_ Dot laughed. “It’s alright, Bucky.” _

_ “Dolores!” several voices called. _ _ The three of us turned to see a group of girls jumping and waving towards us. _

_ Dot turned back to me. “Can I…” She gestured towards the girls. _

_ I nodded. “Go ahead. I gotta get Steve home anyways.” _

_ “Thanks!” she said, jumping up to land a kiss on my cheek before running off towards the group of girls. _

_ “You do realize that we don’t actually have any money to get home, right?” Steve voiced. _

_ I turned towards him. “Hey. It was your idea to get those hot dogs.” _

_ Steve shifts his weight and wipes the last bit of mustard off of the corner of his mouth. _

_ “And you also rode the cyclone coaster,” I reminded, smiling encouragingly. _

_ “I threw up.” _

_ “Well, if you can survive that coaster and throwing up, you can survive jumping aboard some random vehicle and catching a free ride home,” I added. _

_ Steve was quiet for a second. “Fine,” he groaned. _

_ We made our way out of the carnival and walked a few blocks until we came to the main road. A truck quickly rumbled past us before slowing to a stop by a small building.  _ _ Steve ran up ahead, and a followed after, jogging by his side. " _ _ Wait, wait, wait,” I muttered, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him to the side of the building. _

_ “What?” _

_ “Shh,” I spat. _

_ Several men loaded and unloaded crates from the back of the truck for a few minutes until they went inside. _

_ “Go,” I whispered. “Go.” _

_ We both rushed towards the truck, and I jumped through the open cargo doors and onto the floor. I reached down and grabbed Steve’s thin arm and helped him up. _

_ A bell rang, and voices reached us as the door to the building opened. I shoved Steve behind me and towards where most of the crates rested. We both squeezed ourselves between some of the icy cold crates. The space was so small that even Steve had to press his knees against his chest and wrap his arms around his legs.  _ _ We kept as quiet as possible as the cargo doors slid closed, cutting off almost all light. Just enough sunlight managed to slip through the gaps between the door of the back of the truck, allowing me to at least see Steve and the crates of ice around us. _

_ After a moment the truck shuddered as it started to move. I let out a breath that I didn’t know I was holding, and Steve and I both laughed in relief.  _ _ I fisted my hand and held it out to him. Steve’s knuckles connected with mine, and out laughter grew louder. _

* * *

My eyes snap open as the metal shipping container pitches towards the doors. Some of the crates slide around, and others on top rattle so much that part of me worries that they’ll fall over and crush me. The shipping container stops moving after a minute or two and everything settles. More and more bangs sound around me, and all I can think of is that other containers are being placed around this one. There are rust holes in the corner of the container I’m in, and that lets in some light, but it’s not enough to see much of anything. 

I wait for what feels like hours before I feel like I’m moving again. The container rocks back and forth, so the ship must be on the water already. 

I take out the small flashlight again and click it on, scanning the crates around me. They’re nondescript, and nothing let’s me know what could possibly be inside. I could crack one open and hope to get lucky enough to find food, but I doubt any of the crates would have food in them, and I couldn’t break one open without getting caught sooner or later. 

I scan the floor in my small corner and find the yellow package what was going to be Jame's breakfast. I pick it up and unwrap it. I have no idea what it is, but it’s greasy with an egg and bacon in between what looked like two syrup infused pancakes with a curvy letter “M” branded in the top. It’s not large, but I can only eat half of it. I’ll eat the other half tomorrow.


	9. Chapter 9

I don’t know how long it took for the ship to stop rocking. The limited light of the sun that came through the small rust holes in the metal container faded and came back several times, enough for over two weeks to pass. My muscles were cramping so badly that I couldn’t sleep well--not that I could sleep well before. The nightmares were less intense than they normally were, though. The rocking of the ship and the cold air made me feel safer for some reason. I rationed the limited food and water I had, but the water ran out before the ship stopped. My food is almost gone, as well. I used the flashlight I stole to write what I remembered in the journals as the days passed to distract myself from my burning, dry throat and hunger pains.

It was relatively calm and quiet in the container, so I jumped when the floor suddenly shuddered and pitched violently. I brace myself against the rough, rusted wall until the container stops shuddering. The doors bang open, and bright light rushes in so quickly that it nearly blinds me. 

After several minutes of shouting in what sounded like modern Greek, more and more light flooded the container, so they must be moving the crates. I have to run out of here quickly. If I get caught, I’ll be arrested and sent back to America, which will set me right back where I started.

As soon as the last two crates between me and the exit are picked up by a forklift, I stand and run around the machine as fast as I can. People shout after me in Greek, demanding that I stop and go back, but I don’t stop. I keep going. I run off the dock, leaving the ocean behind. I run and run until the sounds of their voices and the crashing ocean waves disappear.

* * *

I move quickly: walking, running, jumping onto open cargo trains and shipping trucks like I did with Steve. I collect food here and there: fruit, packaged foods, bread, and I refill the water bottle I stole from that woman so long ago at every opportunity. 

My sleep is sporadic and never restful. There are so many nightmares and so many terrible memories inside of me that sometimes, I’m not sure I want to remember. Overall, I want to, but I always remember killing others. Over two dozen people. I was ordered to kill over two dozen people. And I remember all of them. I remember strangling some and beating others. Some begged for their lives, but most had a bullet in their heads before they could register what was happening. 

I keep circling back to the same questions: did I feel anything when I killed them, or are my current feelings just coloring the memory? And is it worse to not feel anything at all, or to be awake when I did it and not fight the order to kill?

I try my best not to think about it as I keep moving, passing country after country and discovering that I knew so many more languages than just English and Russian. After I hop off a train and run before the engineers can catch me, I find myself in Romania near their capital of Bucharest. 

I keep walking, straining to ignore the dull ache of hunger in my stomach. I miss sleeping in a bed. Over the year it took to arrive in Romania, I had regained a few more memories of my life before being HYDRA’s Soldier. I remember sleeping in a bed with a pillow. Steve’s mother, Sara, gave us blankets when we built pillow forts on the floor when we were kids. They were warm.

I’m far enough away from DC now. When I think about Steve as Captain America, I don’t feel anxious like I used to. I don’t feel like I need to return to the river I left him and carry out HYDRA’s order. I can settle down somewhere. My entire body is the kind of tired that’s bone-deep and dreadful. I want to find somewhere permanent to stay, but I don’t have any money to do that, and there’s always the risk of HYDRA finding me if I stop moving.

After a day or so, I enter the capital city of Bucharest. I hadn’t eaten in a full day. I was more exhausted than I’ve ever consciously remembered. I know that I was even more tired in Siberia--where HYDRA kept me and the other Winter Soldiers--but this level of exhaustion was still terrible.  I ducked into an alleyway and try to settle down for the night, my stomach growling and aching. In Siberia, I didn’t have the time or concentration to register any hunger pains because the rest of me hurt too much, and I don’t remember ever being this hungry before I was drafted into the Army. 

I curl up, trying to get my left arm under cover. The metal constantly drained the heat out of me, making me feel ten times colder than I actually was. Eventually, my eyes finally close and quickly drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

I stirred awake with the sun, but I kept my eyes closed, straining to continue sleeping. 

“Hey!” someone shouted, making me jump. I looked up and found an older, tan man wearing a stained apron, standing in the doorway across from me. “What do you think you’re doing here!”  Apparently, I understand Romanian, too.

I sat up slowly, trying to show him that I’m not a threat. “My name is Bucky,” I recited like I do every time I wake up, only this time, I do it in Romanian rather than English.

“I don’t care what your name is!” the man shouted. “You’re not stealing food from here!”

He rushes towards me, and I instantly stand. I don’t want to hurt him, but his quick movements made me nervous.  I forced down my instinct to push him away and let the man grab my arm. He dragged me through the door he came out of and guided me through a kitchen and into a dining area. He hooked his foot around a chair and pulled it away from one of the tables. He threw me down into it, and I strained to calm my racing heart.

He is just defending his place of work. He’s not going to kill me. He’s not an agent of HYDRA. 

“You’re going to wait right here,” the man ordered before walking behind a counter and drawing a mobile phone from the pocket of his apron. He tapped the glowing screen on it a few times and put it to his ear. “Sebastian,” he stated, earning an annoyed babble coming from the other end of the phone line. “I know, and I’m sorry, but there’s a guy who was lurking in the alley. I think he was trying to steal food. He looks like he’s been sleeping on the ground for months.” A longer babble sounded from the phone, though it seemed less irritated than before. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll do that.”

The man took the phone away from his ear before coming back towards me. “It’s your lucky day,” he congratulated. “Boss wants to see you before he does anything about this. But you’ve still got to stay right here.”

I nodded. It’s not like I had anywhere to go. If they try to hurt or arrest me, I’ll run then. With HYDRA’s poisons running through me, I’m faster and stronger than they are.

We waited for an hour or so. The traffic outside started to pick up as people began to go to work, but everyone passed by this small diner or restaurant or whatever it is without giving it a second glance.

I jumped when the bell rang. I turned to find a man who was slimmer and younger than the one who was guarding me. He closed and locked the door and walked past me. He must be who the older man called. Sebastian.  “This him?” he asked, receiving a nod from the other man. They both turned to me, and Sebastian questions, “Were you trying to steal from here?”

I shake my head.

“Then what were you doing in the alleyway?”

“Sleeping,” I muttered. 

“You don’t have a place to stay?”

I shake my head again.

The two men converse quietly for a moment, and the older man who brought me in here was looking more and more irritated. 

Sebastian suddenly turned to me and enthusiastically wonders, “Would you like a job?”

I stare it him in stunned silence.

The older man sputters. “Sir, with all due respect, you can’t flippin’ do that!”

“Sandu, I’m the owner of this place, so I can hire who I want,” Sebastian reminded before turning back to me. “Are you from around here?”

“No,” I mutter.

“Then, how’d you get here?”

I hesitate before answering. “A ship.”

“You got a name?”

“My name is Bucky,” I recite.

“Bucky?” Sebastian repeats, and I nod. “Can you start right away? Our dishwasher actually just quit, so we need a new one. Doesn’t pay much, but you’ll be better off working here than sleeping in some random alleyway.”

When I still don’t answer, Sebastian continues. “How strong are you? The dishes here are actually pretty heavy, and Sandu here can’t lift all of them. Especially while he’s cooking,” he laughs. “How ‘bout just a trial run? Work here for a few days--with pay, or course--and see if you like it?”

If I work here, I can earn money and eventually get a permanent place to stay. HYDRA reaches far and wide, but I haven’t seen any sign of them since a year ago during DC. Staying somewhere for longer than one day couldn’t hurt that badly. And if worse comes to worse, I can always run. It’s not like anyone can stop me. Unless they say those words again. It would be more than nice to have somewhere to stay. I could concentrate more on getting my memory and my life back. 

I look back up at Sebastian and nod slowly. I’m still unsure about it, but I tell myself that it will be better. 

“Excellent!” Sebastian exclaimed. “There are employee showers in the back. Why don’t you go ahead and take one while Sandu and I get the place ready for the breakfast rush and let the other workers know that you’ll be joining us. Don't ask why there are employee showers in a diner. Has to do with who used to own this building."

Sebastian pointed down a narrow hall, and I get up and move towards it, giving Sandu a wide berth. 

I was almost to the employee bathrooms when Sebastian’s voice shouts, “Wait!” I turn around and watch as Sebastian runs up to me, a pale uniform that was similar to the one Sandu was wearing in his hands. “This is what you’ll be working in. I eyeballed the size, so feel free to tell me if it’s too big or small.”

I gingerly take the uniform from him and nod. Sebastian turned back around and walk back towards Sandu and started whispering to him. Their sound was too low for me to make anything out, and I automatically assumed that they were talking about me.  Were they plotting to kill me, or were they just concerned about the fact that their “new hire” was some random guy off of the street? They could be HYDRA. They could have just drawn me into a trap to take me back to Siberia.

I shake my head and force myself into the employee bathrooms and lock the door. My heart is beating too fast. I lean against the door and take deep breaths, trying to bring it’s pace back down. 

The likelihood that they are HYDRA agents is slim to none. I had caught enough glimpses of news programs and papers to know that both HYDRA and SHIELD had fallen. All hackable information on both organizations was released to the public. HYDRA is gone. They’re gone. Zola is not here anymore. It’s been too long. Zola is dead, and I’m never going back to Siberia. 

I scanned the bathroom around me and found the place to be in good condition. I’ve been going to the bathroom in the actual woods, though, so even if it was run-down and dirty, it would be better than dry leaves. 

I found a fresh bar of soap, a used, disposable razor that I could clean off and use to trim down my growth of a beard and what smelled like a clean towel in a cabinet nearby. I took the soap out of its box, brought the razor into the shower with me and hung the towel over the silver bar. 

I undressed and placed the uniform and my pack on the floor near the towel rack and took a long, warm shower. It’s the end of winter, so it’s freezing outside. The hot water loosened my stiff muscles, and the soap cleaned off the dirt that had caked onto my skin and nails. I worked the knots out of my longer hair and just stood there in the running water for a while. I can’t remember the last time I had taken a shower, but I feel like it was after Steve brought me out of the work camp during the War. At least, that’s the last time I consciously remember. I have a few distant memories of being cleaned in Siberia so vague that part of me thinks I made it up. I think they just sprayed me with a hose for a while, and it was cold. But this water is warm and nice, though I can’t stay here forever.

I regrettably shut off the water, reached through the shower curtain and grabbed my towel. I wrung the water out of my hair, dried myself off and wrapped the towel around my waist before taking the razor and getting out. The tile floor outside of the shower was so cold that the moment I touched it, it sent chills up my spine. 

I cross the room to the sink and mirror and used the razor to gently shave off the beard I had grown. It took a few minutes, but when it was done, I looked a little more like myself. Or at least, I looked more like what I remembered. 

I go back towards where I had left the uniform and picked it up from the floor. It was stained, but it smelled clean, so I got dressed in it anyways. It was a little loose, but it fit well, and the fabric was thinner than anything I remember wearing. I leaned down when I was finished and folded up my old clothes, shoving them in my pack. 

I was about to leave the bathroom with my pack in hand when I remembered my arm. I had gotten so used to it over the past year, that it got easier and easier to ignore, but I still have to cover it up somehow. It’s unlikely that anyone will notice the silver hand at first glance, but they’ll definitely notice the rest of the powerful, hard-looking arm. 

I reach into the pack and drew out my hoodie. I place the pack on the floor and slip the hoodie back on, leaving it unzipped so it didn’t look like I had anything to hide but that I was just cold--which I was, now that the warm water had stopped. 

I put my pack back on and unlock the bathroom door. I open the door, and the colder air from outside hits me instantly, forcing away the warmer, steam-filled air of the bathroom.  A babble of voices reaches me as I close the bathroom door behind me. It almost sounded like an argument. There were many voices, but Sebastian’s voice silenced them all.  “Come on, guys!” he pleaded. “I’m trying to do a nice thing here. He looked like he needed help, so I gave it, but rather than dip into this company’s savings, I gave him a job. It’ll give him a place to start, up our image, and plus, you’d have to be an idiot to screw up washing dishes.”

After a moment of silence, the other people made noises of agreement.

I take a few slow steps towards the end of the short hall and look around the corner to find a crowd of about thirty men and women in the same uniform I was wearing, though some had variations that made it a little more appealing to the eye, so those must be the people that customers interacted with.

“There you are!” Sebastian exclaimed, making me jump. I look towards the front of the crowd and found Sebastian turned towards me. He gestured to me and glanced back at the collection of workers. “This is the guy. Bucky.”

Every eye turned on me.

“Come out here!” Sebastian pleasantly ordered.

I had to take a deep breath to remind myself that he didn’t have malicious intent with his request. It wasn’t an  _ order _ . He just wanted to introduce me to everyone else.

I slip my left hand into my pocket and take a few steps out of the hall. 

“Well, you look much better,” Sebastian greeted, earning a few small and scattered laughs from the workers.

“I feel better,” I mutter. “Thank you, and I’m sorry for any inconvenience.”

“No inconvenience,” Sebastian dismissed. “We had an open position, and it’s not like you need a background check for it.”

I give a small, fake smile at his comment that I thought was a joke. A small beeping sounded, and it took everything I had not to jump. 

Sebastian lifted his hand and glanced at a watch wrapped around his wrist. “Well, we’re a little later at opening, but we’re still on time,” he announced. “Let’s go, people!”

The day was slow to start for me, but eventually, I was working. It wasn’t difficult, and lifting the dishes wasn’t as bad as Sebastian described--but then again, I have both a metal arm and a super-soldier serum inside of me. They gave me a pair of latex gloves for the job, and luckily, they were tinted enough to hide my silver hand.  Sebastian was in and out of the diner. Sometimes he would check on me and the other employees, but other times, he would go out with the customers and greet them.  The other employees gave me odd looks out of the corners of their eyes. It was obvious that they didn’t trust me, and if I was in their position, I wouldn’t either. 

Despite their glances, my mind drifted while I worked, and I concentrated on as far back as my memory could possibly go. I’ve looked back enough to know that trying to force memories into light will only give me a headache and a panic attack, but I still think about it. I have to remind myself to not try to force the memories to come, but it’s so frustrating. It’s like my mind is a bookshelf with nothing but empty book covers stocking the shelves. I go to pick a book but find the only the cover. The faint image I think is a memory is empty and hollow.

As the day went on, the shifts changed, and new people came. Sebastian introduced me as a new hire and nothing more. Less and less workers knew me in the diner, so less and less cautious glances were discretely thrown in my direction.

Sebastian let me eat all three meals of the day there. He said he’d take the money out of my paycheck, but I didn’t mind. I was just glad that I could eat something at all. I didn’t want to deprive anyone of anything, so I didn’t take much, but the food was good and filling. 

At the end of the day, everyone went home except for Sebastian and Sandu--whose full name, I learned, is Alexandu. I lingered in the kitchen as the last employee left. I have nowhere to go. I could spend the night in the alley again, but I wasn’t sure if they’d let me. 

“Hey, Bucky,” Sebastian called, and I turned to find him standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He tossed his hair back towards the dining area. “Come on.”

I followed Sebastian through the tables, down a hall and through the only door there. Inside was an office, the desk lamp turned on, and a sleeping bag and a thin pillow in the corner. 

“I figured that you staying in here is better than in the alley,” Sebastian voiced.

It was for me? He was letting me stay in his office?

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine,” he continued, “but I’d feel better if you took the sleeping bag anyways.”

“Th-thank you,” I muttered. 

Sebastian nodded. “Not a problem. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “See you tomorrow.”

“Alright, then.” Sebastian turned around and walked out of the office--his office--and closed the door.

My mind flashes back to Siberia for a moment. They locked me in so many small spaces.  My heart starts to race, and I rush back towards the door. I turn the knob and heave a sigh of relief to find the door open. 

I’m not locked in. I’m free to leave if I want.

I closed the door again and went back towards the sleeping bag. It was still warm in the building, and the sleeping bag is simultaneously a bed and a blanket. I missed blankets. 


	10. Chapter 10

I worked with the people in the diner for a few months. I didn’t mind the work. It was mindless and simple, and as time went on, the other employees trusted me more and more. I earned more and more money, and I started to explore the other places around the diner on my breaks. There were clothing shops, markets and stands on the street selling all kinds of food and tabloids. 

I saved the money I earned and tried to find a place to stay that wasn’t in Sebastian’s office. I was grateful for all he had done for me, but I still wanted to get out of his way. Sandu seemed to gradually warm up to me--either that or he just couldn’t wait to get me out of his diner--and suggested cheap apartments that I could stay at once I earned enough.  It took a while, but eventually, I picked a place. I had earned just enough for the first few months’ rent. It was small, but I didn’t mind. Nothing could be smaller than that shipping crate I snuck into to get to this country. 

I discussed it with Sebastian and the one who was renting out the apartment, and Sebastian actually wrote me a letter of recommendation. I couldn’t thank him enough and repeatedly apologized for making him have to do it in the first place, though he insisted that it wasn’t a problem.  After another month, it was ready for me to move in. My heart was beating fast as I walked up the road towards it. Sebastian gave me the day off so that I could move in and get to know the area. It was only a couple of blocks from the diner, so I could easily walk there. I gripped the sleeping bag that Sebastian had gifted me tighter. 

I didn’t know why I was so nervous about it. I guess, part of me still thinks that I’m walking into a trap set by HYDRA.  No matter how hard I’ve tried over the past year and a half, I can’t get them out of my head. I’m comfortable here, but I still glance over my shoulder. I’m still anxious, and I can’t shake the feeling that sooner or later, someone will be sent to kill me or they will send me to kill others. 

I shove thoughts of them from my mind and glanced up towards the apartment building I would be staying in. I walk in and find the same run-down foyer as last time I was here with Sebastian to check out the apartment. There was an empty desk and a hall that lead to the stairwell along with the same chairs that rested by the wall of windows next to the door. The only difference was that this time, I wasn’t greeted by the landlord.

A young man sat in one of the chairs in the foyer, and he looked to be waiting for me. “Uh...Bucky Barnes, right?” he wondered. I hummed in confirmation. The man smiled pleasantly and stood up from his chair. He held his hand out, and I shook it, gripping him lightly. “Adrian. I’m Atanase’s son.”

I nodded. “Good to meet you.”

“Likewise.” We let go of each other’s hands. “Let me take you to your new home.”

We walked through the same halls and up the same staircase as the last time I was here. The place wasn’t as well-kept as it could be, but it was still nice to have a place to stay on my own. 

The land-lord's son stopped outside of the door of the apartment that I would be staying in and unlocked the door with the key from his pocket. The door swung open, and he gestured inside. “Home, sweet home,” he sighed, presenting the key to me. I took it from his hand, surprised that I didn’t flinch when his hand came towards me. “Hope you like it here.”

“Thank you,” I responded. “I’m sure I will.” Anything is better than Siberia. Even sleeping in the dirt.

Adrian nodded and descended the stairs back to the foyer. I went inside the apartment and closed the door behind me, locking it shut. Staying in Sebastian’s office was nice, but I felt better being able to lock the door.

The apartment was small and plain. There were a couple windows and a fire escape. There was a kitchenette with a fridge, a sink, a microwave and a breakfast table, and in the small living room, there was a sofa and a bed. A real bed. Not just a sleeping bag on the floor or a pile of leaves.

I walked towards the mattress and placed my hand on it. It was soft and kind of squishy in a pleasant way.  I’m still getting my memory back, so though I remember sleeping on a bed before, I don’t remember how it felt. So far, I’ve only remembered images, sounds. I’ve remembered what happened but not how anything felt. It was better than not remembering at all.

I drop the sleeping bag on top of the bed and cross the room to the breakfast table. I swing my bag off of my shoulder and place it on the table. I unzip it and start to pull things out, though there wasn’t much inside. There was the water bottle I stole from that woman ages ago that I still kept water in, a couple granola bars I kept on hand, a stack of cash that I had earned from the diner and my journals. They had gotten quite beaten up over the past year and a half. Some of the spiral binding was bend, the loose leaf pages were crumpled, and the more durable books were heavily scratched.

No one can find these. If they do, they’ll take them. Burn them, probably, and make me do it. 

I look up and glance around for a place to hide the journals that wasn’t too obvious, but the apartment wasn’t big enough. Everywhere is too obvious. I take a step towards the fire escape to see if there’s a place outside, and the floorboards creak under my weight. I look down and find that one of the boards was loose. There was a dent on the side of the wood, and the entire board wobbled.

I lean down and hook my finger in the dent. I pop the board up and find a small space between my floor and the one below. It had just enough room to store the backpack and the journals inside. 

I moved back towards the breakfast table and stuffed the books and notes back inside, put a few bills from the cash in with them and zipped the bag closed. I put it down in the space under the floorboards and secure the loose board back on top of it. You would only find it if you were looking for it, and that was unlikely here in Bucharest. 

I have the entire day to myself. Sebastian gave me the day off, and it didn’t take that long to move in because I don’t have anything with me. I suppose I could get to know the area. Spend some of the money I earned to make this place a little more normal.  I set aside some of the cash for rent next moth and take the rest of it with me as I leave. I lock the door behind me and test it, making sure no one could open it. 

I visited several shops and got only the standard things I would need, including a cheap watch that had an alarm on it so I could get to the diner on time. I got the staples for the bathroom like shampoo and soap, and I also got groceries that included plastic utensils. I could finally eat in the apartment and stop taking from the diner. I got the few things I knew that I liked: granola bars, bread and water. But I also got a few other things that I’d like to try like milk and orange juice. I had the chocolate infused granola bars, but I had never had chocolate by itself, so I got one or two chocolate bars. I got a something called a TV dinner that looked good and some fruits. It had been too long since I had fruit. I got some oranges, a banana or two and some plums from a street vendor near the supermarket. He was a tall man named Adi with a friendly face. I liked him.

The whole day was strangely fun. I had overheard groans from other shoppers, complaining about the chore of going to the store, but I couldn’t see how they though of this as a burden. We were free to move around and choose what we wanted. There were actually so many choices that my mind froze for a moment at the majority of the decisions. 

I returned to the apartment as the sun started to set where put everything in the fridge and freezer that needed to be and put the chocolate bars on top of the fridge. I heated up one of the TV dinners I got in the microwave, following the written instructions on the back of the box and ate it at the breakfast table with one of the plastic forks I got.  It was amazing. The meal wasn’t the best, but the flavor wasn’t what made it amazing. I had earned it. It wasn’t difficult work, but I had still worked for this nonetheless. I wasn’t fed like a dog or injected with some weird substance to keep my caloric intake up. I earned it. It was real food that I had worked for myself. HYDRA had nothing to do with it. 

I brushed my teeth when I was done and figured out the watch I got, setting the alarm for six in the morning so that I could get to the diner on time and have enough time to eat breakfast and maybe shower. I unrolled the sleeping bag that Sebastian gifted me on the bed and took out the pillow that was wrapped inside of it. I placed the watch on the floor next to the sheetless bed and settled down for the night. 

I had a great day. A great few months, actually. I had met wonderful people, and I haven’t heard a single thing about HYDRA other than my own thoughts. Maybe I won’t have nightmares tonight. They were always so terrifying, and after I wake up, part of me still thinks that I’m in Siberia and that this life is the dream. 

Maybe I’ll dream of Peggy, Steve and Howard. I hope I will. They were the only friends that I clearly remember. I only have a few vague memories of the other Howling Commandos. They were my friends, too, and I wish I remembered more about them, but at the same time, remembering them might lead back to Siberia. I fought with them against HYDRA. At least I have a few memories of Steve, Peggy and Howard that don’t involve HYDRA at all. Maybe I’ll dream of them.

Or even that woman who I can’t entirely remember. She was nice. She reminded me what it was like to be human, even in Siberia. They punished us both for that in different ways. Sometimes a blast of cold air from the walk-in freezer at the diner will make me remember that punishment. They froze me just enough to put my body into stasis, but I was conscious. Conscious of every minute. It was so cold. And she watched. She was called Natalia, I think. She watched me, and called for me. That was the last I saw of her, I think. I know I trained her, trained her to be a killer like they trained me. Either way, she was nice. She didn’t want to hurt me, and she never did--unless she was forced. Who forced her again? The Black Widows. They were the ones who trained and punished her. 

I hope I dream of her. We went on missions together. We had to spend many nights alone, but we were together. Please let me remember her. 

* * *

_ “Your work is a gift to mankind.” _

_ “Sergeant Barnes?” _

_ “Howard!” _

_ “Put him on ice.” _

_ “What have you done to him!” _

_ It hurts. Make it stop. _

_ “Nah. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight. I’m followin’ him.”  _

_ “Strastnoye zhelaniye.” _

_ “Well, I did say a few years, didn’t I?” _

_ “Just go! Get out of here!” _

_ “Rzhavyye.” _

_ “Three targets. Level six.” _

_ “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.” _

_ “Semnadtsat'.” _

_ “Shut up!” _

_ Why won’t they stop?  _

_ “Rassvet.” _

_ Just a little longer. _

_ “Pech'.” _

_ Steve, Peggy, Howard and the others will come. _

_ “9.” _

_ They will. _

_ “Dobrokachestvennyy.” _

_ Soon. _

_ “Vozvrashcheniye domoy.” _

_ Just one more day.  _

_ “Odin.” _

_ I can hold out for just one more day. _

_ “Gruzovoy avtomobil'.” _

_ They left me. They didn’t come.  _

_ “Soldat?”  _

_ Kill me. _

_ “Gotov k vypolneniyu.” _

* * *

I jump up with a shout. My heart is racing faster than I can keep up with, and gunshots are echoing in my mind. 

A beeping sounds below me, making me jump again. But it also refocused me. 

It was a digital watch. My watch. The one I bought yesterday. I’m in the apartment. Not Siberia. 

I take a deep breath and glance down towards where I left the watch last night and pick it up, pressing the button on its side that silenced the alarm.  I close my eyes and grip the watch in my right hand, making it my anchor as the pain- and blood-filled images raced through my mind. 

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” I recite. “My friends called me Bucky. I was born March tenth, 1917. Steve is my friend. I am not in Siberia. I’m in Bucharest, the capital city of Romania.”

I opened my eyes again, calmer than before, but the gunshots and the shouts of both my own and those of who I slaughtered still lingered. I drop the watch and grip the sides of my head, trying to force the half-conscious memories out, but they kept coming.

This happens every morning. No matter how hard I try, I can’t force them away. The memories come fast and hard, beating me almost as hard as Zola and the other agents. I can almost never pull myself out. A sound or someone else usually does that. 

I have thought, on more than one occasion, of ending it myself. My mind hurts, and it’s not just a headache. My mind hurts when I remember like this, and it’s always bad. Someone always dies, and then I’m in Siberia again. I’ve wanted to end this pain more than once.

But there’s still Steve. He’s still here. He woke me up. He didn’t fight me. He doesn’t hate me--though he should.

A knock sounds at the door of the apartment, and I jump again, stifling a shout. I force myself to breathe slowly, keeping my anxiety under control.

I got up from the bed and crossed the hardwood floor to the door. I unlocked it and opened the door, careful to keep my arm left out of the view of whoever would be there. 

“Hi!” greeted a dark-skinned woman I didn’t recognize. “I heard that someone new moved in. I’m your neighbor. I live just across the hall.” She gestured behind her towards one of the doors on the other side of the stairwell. “I heard some commotion in here, so I thought I’d come and see if everything is alright?”

I nodded and took another deep breath as I did to keep my voice steady. “Yeah. All good.”

“You sure?” she pressed. “Thought I heard screaming.”

“Really?” I wondered, making my expression a mixture of surprise and confusion. “I had an alarm go off, but I didn’t think anyone screamed.” My throat burns as I speak. I must have been the one screaming. 

“Alright. Just making sure everything was okay,” she accepted before holding her hand out. “Adela.”

I gently grasped her hand with my right. “Bucky.”

“Good to meet you.” She smiled pleasantly.

“You too.”

We let go of each other’s hands, and she wished me a good day before she walked back towards her apartment door.

I quickly closed the door and locked it again, leaning up against it. I was grateful to Adela for pulling me out of my morning nightmare, and she seemed like a nice person, but she could have some ulterior motive. She could be a HYDRA plant sent to bring me back to Siberia.

I shake my head and dispelled the thoughts. Adela seemed nice enough, and I hadn’t seen any HYDRA agents in over a year. It was unlikely that she was HYDRA.

But not impossible.

I force myself away from the door and the destructive thoughts. I had to get to the diner before my shift starts, and I don’t have much time. I shower and brush my teeth, throw on the uniform and my old hoodie to cover my arm. When I was finished, I had “breakfast”. I remember that you’re supposed to eat cereal or something like that for breakfast, and though I had bread, I didn’t have butter for toast. That’s the next thing I’ll try.  I had one of the chocolate bars and drank orange juice directly from the carton. The combination tasted strange, but individually, they were good. 


	11. Chapter 11

I keep working for months. I go to the stores and talk with people. I got clothes and things for the apartment. I made better friends with people at the diner and got to know Adela better. The things I did were simple, but they were significant to me. As each day passed, the life I had earned here grew more and more real. I didn't stop looking over my shoulder or having nightmares, but I suspected people less, and I dreamed of better things. It got easier to smile and look people in the eye rather than flinching whenever someone moved too quickly. 

I discovered that I remembered more and had happier dreams when I ate plums for some reason. It could be a coincidence, but it also couldn’t be. The flavor of them could be reminding me of something before the War. Either way, I would take anything that would help me remember, and I wrote it all down, stowing the notes in the backpack I had under the floorboards of the apartment. I tried to keep them organized by date with the different color sticky notes I got, but I didn’t remember things in order. I would remember something from the War before I remembered school with Steve or something.

I kept the last knife and grenade from my Winter Soldier uniform in the pack, fresh water and made sure that there was still food inside in case I needed to leave quickly, though I didn’t want to leave. I like it here. The people were nice, and they didn’t ask why I always wore the same hoodie, and they also kept me updated on Steve, though they always called him Captain America and never by his actual name.

Apparently Steve and the other Avengers were involved in a floating country called Sokovia and some explosion in Nigeria. What was Steve doing? He could get himself killed. I told him before I left not to do anything stupid, but I’m pretty sure getting experimented on by a random German scientist and fighting against armies of humans, aliens  _ and _ robots qualify as doing something stupid. Next time I see him, he is so getting punched.

About a year after I started working at the diner--two years after DC--Sebastian said I could have Saturdays off because I had built up his trust or something. I had money saved up, so I was alright if I didn’t work, though I was better when I had to. It kept my mind distracted.  One Saturday morning, I took some of that money and went back to the street vendor that sold the plums that helped my memory. I waved to Adi as I approached his stand.

“How’s it going, Bucky?” he asked. 

“Good. How about yourself?”

“Good, good! Morning’s always slow, but nothing too bad.”

I smiled and laughed lightly as I reached out with my gloved left hand. I had practiced feeling with my metal arm. It was dull and distant, and I had to concentrate on it, but I could still feel with it, and it had gotten a lot stronger in recent weeks. I gently grasped one of the plums in Adi’s basket and carefully tested its thin skin to see if it was ripe.

“Same thing I assume?” Adi mockingly wondered.

I smirked as I picked up a few more of the small fruits and tested them. “They’re good,” I laughed. 

“But you get them weekly,” he countered. 

“Hey, at least I build up your line this early in the morning. It makes you look more popular,” I laughed, passing him the small handful of plums I had picked out.

“True, true,” he agreed as he put the plums in the bag. “But don’t think that means you get a discount.”

I smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I took out a few bills from my pocket and handed them to him in exchange for the fruits. I glanced around out of habit as I took the plastic bag of plums back from Adi. I’ve gotten better with the paranoia, but that doesn’t mean I’m perfect. Occasionally, I still feel like someone is watching me. And this was one of those times.

“Have a good day, Bucky,” Adi wished.

I nodded and looked back at him. “You too.”

I walked off towards nowhere in particular. It was nice to be able to walk around on my own without true threat. I looked around just in case, but since two years ago, there hasn’t been any problems.

I stopped at an intersection and checked around me again. A pale man at a newsstand caught my gaze and tensed. He looked around wildly as the cars passed between us before taking a few stumbling steps backwards.  I walked towards him when the flow of traffic got cut off as the light changed to red. I didn’t know why he was afraid of me, but he had no reason to be. I wasn’t going to hurt him. I won’t talk to him, but I’ll show him I’m not a threat.  The closer I got to his stand, the more the man scrambled to get away until he broke free of the collection of people surrounding him and ran off. 

I sighed and cast my gaze to the floor. I had my arm covered, but did I still look that dangerous?

As I looked down I spotted the newspaper on his desk and raced towards it. I picked it up and read the headline. Then I read it twice more just to be sure I read it right the first time.

“Winter Soldier Bombs the UN.”  There was a slightly blurred, black and white picture of someone who looked like me leaving a building through a garage underneath the glaring headline. 

I didn’t. I couldn’t have. I’ve been here in Bucharest for almost a year. And as far as I remembered, I’ve never even been Vienna or any UN building. 

I took a deep breath and forced myself to slowly put the paper down before I tore it in my tense grip. I looked around me as I walk away from the stand, straining harder than ever to find any HYDRA agents. 

This could be a trap to flush me out and send me back to Siberia, but even if it wasn’t, it was best I left before people looked at me like that man did. 

Why did I let my guard down? I never should have. I shouldn't have stayed here. I should have kept moving.

I didn’t want to leave. I felt safe here. As far as I knew, no one was out to hurt me, and if I went somewhere else that might change.

I race back to my apartment building as fast as I could without drawing attention. I waved to Adela as she left for work as I normally did, but the moment she was gone, I practically ran up the stairs. I needed a moment to calm down and think. It was safe in my apartment. The only HYDRA there is in my mind.

I was about to put my key in the doorknob when I spotted scratches on the keyhole that weren’t there before. Someone picked the lock.  I slipped the key back into my pocket and slowly turned the doorknob.  Maybe it wasn't as safe here as I thought. But HYDRA would blow the entire building to smithereens. Not pick the lock. 

I quietly push the door open and take slow, silent steps into the apartment, closing and locking the door behind me. A dark silhouette stood in front of the fridge looking down at something in his hands. His suit was dark blue and he was wearing a helmet. “Understood,” he muttered to someone who was probably over the radio in his ear.

I recognized his voice instantly. But I can’t know him. Not if HYDRA’s here. They’ll hurt me worse if I do. I can’t know him. Not until I know for sure that HYDRA isn’t involved.

Steve turned around, his shield glinting in the limited light of the apartment. He came armed. Maybe this was HYDRA.  “Do you know me?” he asked.

I took a slow breath to keep my voice steady. “You’re Steve,” I answered shortly. “I read about you in a museum.”

The time I last saw him jumped to mind, bleeding and bruised in DC. He needs to leave. I didn’t realize it would be this hard to see him.

“I know you’re nervous,” he said, placing one of my journals down on the breakfast table and taking a few small steps towards me, “and you have every reason to be, but you’re lying.”

I was more than nervous. What if I kill him? I don’t feel HYDRA’s order anymore, but I was still terrified that this entire thing was a trap set by them. I might have to kill him to get out, or they’ll capture me and make me kill him.

Just say that I don’t know you. Please. They might be listening, and I don’t want to hurt you.

It didn’t matter. If they were listening, they already knew that I was lying. He’s probably here about the UN bombing, so I could make him leave if I told him the truth. “I wasn’t in Vienna. I don’t do that anymore.”

Steve glanced out the window nervously. “Well, the people who think you did are coming here now. And they’re not planning on taking you alive.”

“That’s smart,” I dismissed. “Good strategy.” Whether it was HYDRA or not, it would be better for them to kill me. I would kill them if they didn’t, and it might be better for everyone if I wasn’t around at all because of the words that they put into me.

Footsteps sound above us and outside the door. We don’t have anymore time to talk about this. They’re here to kill me. Kill or be killed. Just like it always is.

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight, Buck,” Steve says as I turn towards the door.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding as the sound of heavy footfalls silence. “It always ends in a fight.”

“You pulled me from the river. Why?” Steve questions as I take off the glove that concealed my metal hand.

“I don’t know,” I mutter, looking back at him.

“Yes, you do.”

Something crashes through the fire escape window and soars towards Steve. He hits it with his shield, sending it back where it came from. The second window breaks and something else rolls towards me on the floor. Grenade. 

I kick it towards Steve, and he covers it with his shield. A muffled bang and a flash comes from underneath his shield as bullets fly through the window, shattering it more. I pick up the mattress I had slept on and shielded myself with it as a loud bang sounds at the door.  I drop the mattress and rush towards the breakfast table. I use my left hand and launch the table towards the door. It got wedged in between the walls before the door, keeping it in place.

Both windows shatter even further as soldiers in black body armor burst through on wires. I rip the carpet out from underneath one of them and he falls to the floor, sending a spray of bullets through the ceiling.  The remaining man races towards me and tries to grab me, but I duck his hands, and snatch up the cord he used to get in here. I pull it sharply as I move, flipping him over.  The door to the fire escape is kicked open, and Steve grabs the barrel of an assault rifle. I rush forward and kick the soldier in the chest, sending him to the floor.

“Buck, stop!” Steve orders. A hand lands on my shoulder and I instantly flip around, thinking it was another soldier. “You’re gonna kill someone,” Steve points out, panicked.

No more orders. I’m going to leave before someone actually does die, and he can’t stop me.

I take him down with a quick movement, flipping him onto his back. I fist my hand and punch through the wooden floorboards where the backpack waits.  “I’m not gonna kill anyone,” I mutter, ripping the bag out of its hiding place.

I toss the bag out of the window and to the next building’s roof as one of the soldiers gets back up, and bullets fly. I put up my left arm and cover myself with as much of it as I could. Bullets clanged painfully off of the metal for a moment before they suddenly stop. Steve covered me with his shield.  Maybe I shouldn’t have figured out how to amplify the feeling in my left arm.

Another soldier comes through the second window with a shotgun, and Steve moves to cover me. I push him towards the soldier and they both go through the window.  Another soldier fires at me, and I put my left hand out as I advance on him. His bullets clang off of the metal of my hand. It stings a little, but the pain is quickly fading. I pick the man up by the throat and throw him to the ground, destroying the bookshelf that came with the apartment.  One of the soldiers on the floor gets up, and I take one of the cinder blocks that had come dislodged from the wall and slam it into his chest, throwing him into the door that led to the bathroom, which collapses under his sudden weight.

Gunshots sound outside the door, and though these soldiers were taken care of, there will soon be more of them, and I need to get into a more open space to fight them better. 

I dislodge the table from the door and the walls as the wood from the door splinters with the gunshots. I fist my left hand and punch through the door, sending it several feet forward. I run into the hall and grab the guns of the soldiers, kicking the one to my right in the knee. He stumbles backwards and falls down the stairs, taking the one behind him down, too. I use my hold on the other soldier and flip him onto his back as the dusty skylight above me shatters, too.

Another soldier zips down on a wire. I shield myself with my metal arm as he sprays me with bullets. As he reaches my level, I grab his gun and throw him into the wall. His wire yanks him back, and I reach down for the battering ram that they tried to use to open the door. I use my left arm and slam the makeshift weapon into a charging soldier’s chest. Another soldier comes charging up the stairs with more behind him. I hit him hard in the knee with the battering ram, sending him to the floor.

More and more soldiers are entering. I need to get to the other roof and out of here before they overpower me.

I jump onto the back of the unconscious soldier dangling from his wire and both of our weight sends me down a few levels of stairs. I jump onto the platform and grab several soldiers guns, punching and kicking them several feet away.

“Suspect has broken containment!” someone shouts in Romanian. “He’s headed down the east stairwell.”

Great. Now more will come. I don’t want to kill these men, but I might have to.

One of the soldiers grabs my upper arms behind me, and though it restricts my movement slightly, it doesn’t prevent me from kicking the other in front of me. Steve jumps down to the stair landing I’m on as pull myself from the soldier’s grasp and elbow him with my metal arm.

Another soldier comes down the stairs, but I grab him by the front of his armor and throw him down the empty middle of the curling staircase. Steve grabs him at the last second and looks at me with disappointment in his expression as he shakes his head slightly. “Come on, man,” he groans.

Shut up, Steve.

I elbow the soldier coming up behind be before he could subdue me and use my metal hand to rip the guardrail from the concrete. I use it to swing myself down another level and kick another soldier through a door.

Two more men come up on me. I take the hook one had for a wire and attach him to the other before throwing him over the guardrail of the landing. The other was pulled along with him, but I shove him into the wall repeatedly until he’s unconscious. 

A gun cocks behind me and I turn to find a soldier with a shotgun. Steve’s shield comes from the landing above and knocks the soldier to the floor before getting lodged in the concrete wall.

I’m grateful to him, but it’s time to go.

I jump over the guardrail and fall several floors before grabbing onto a different floor’s rail. I cry out as the metal of my left arm pulls sharply at the muscles in my shoulder, emphasizing the constant ache. 

I shove the pain to the back of my mind and pull myself up onto the landing. I kick open a nearby door and plead the whoever lived there wouldn’t be home. I raced through the hall and through crashed through the window that led to their fire escape. I fell several stories to the next roof over, though I barely made it. My knees gave way when I landed hard on the roof’s edge, but I used my momentum to throw myself into a roll that led me to my backpack that I had tossed over here. I instantly force myself up and snatch the backpack up from the ground. I run as fast as I possibly can, the edge of the roof coming up fast. 

The looming shadow of a man consumes mine, and I turn to find a black suit flying towards me. The man tackles me, but I roll away enough to remain out of his reach. I get to my knees and watch the man as he gets into a fighting stance. He’s dressed entirely in black with silver stitching along his face mask that almost made it look like he had whiskers. The suit gave him pointed ears, and as he put his hands up, sharp claws extend from his fingertips.

And now there’s this guy. What’s with the cat suit?

It doesn’t matter. He’s standing in my way, and I need to leave.

I rush at him, and throw a few punches that he easily blocks. I manage to get around him and gain access to the other side of the roof, but he still comes at me. I throw a punch at him with my metal arm, but he ducks underneath it and swings at me. I dodge his clawed swing and punch at him again. He blocks with his arm, but there’s something strange about his suit. It’s almost like my arm and Steve’s shield.

He shoves my arm away and knees me in the chest. His kick is so strong that it sends me into a ventilation box that’s on the roof. I look up just in time to duck the man’s claws. He digs into the side of the metal box instead of my head. The man turns back around and comes at me with his other hand, but I spin and dodge this hand, too. 

All I wanted was some plums this morning. What the heck?

The man in the black suit jumps up and kicks off of the metal box, using it to spin towards me and kick me to the floor. I start to get up, but he flips and grabs my arms, pulling me back down. 

The man lets go, and I grab for a metal bar that was resting next to me and bring it up, blocking his clawed swing at my face. He rips his claws out of the bar, snapping it. I toss the pieces away and bring my hands up to grab his wrists as he extends his claws back towards me. 

Seriously, who is this guy? And what’s with the cat suit? Last I remembered, the weirdest I’ve seen thing was Sam Wilson’s wings.

The dull beat of helicopter blades sound, and bullets start to fly. The man looks up and looks over to the helicopter, bullets bouncing off of his suit.  A winged man flies up and kicks the end of the helicopter, making it spin out of control. The man flies off again, and I only catch a glimpse of who he is. 

Wilson’s here, too? What the freak?

I use Cat Suit Guy’s distraction to my advantage and flip him onto his back, getting to my feet again. I grab my bag and instantly run to the edge of the roof, dropping down to the ledge several feet below. I glance up and see the Guy dig his claws into the side of the building and slide down it, leaving claw marks behind.  I jump down the rest of the way and land hard on the concrete ground. The man lands a second after, so I turn and take off as fast as I can. 

I don’t care if this guy is HYDRA or SHIELD or even working with Steve. He’s trying to kill me.

The helicopter returns as I run, tearing up the stone ground with a spray of bullets. Helicopters can’t fly in small spaces, and there’s an underground roadway a few feet from here with a decorative hole in the top to let in more light down there.

The brick ledge of that hole comes up fast, and I instantly jump down it. I land on the road and several cars honk and swerve to get around me. I turn and run in the same direction as the cars as sounds of two more people impacting the ground reach me. Sirens wail, and cars honk at me as I run, but they’re not loud enough to drown out an amplified voice. “Stand down!” he shouts in English. “Stand down!”

I just have to keep running. These men can’t follow me forever.

I jump up on top of one of the cars rather than slowing down to go around it. I run along its roof before hopping back to the ground and continuing, going as fast as I can. 

It might not be enough. It was never enough before. I ran from them every time I could, but they always caught me. I’m not letting that happen again.

Cars with flashing red and blue lights rush into the tunnel in front of me, and I can barely stop myself in time. I jump the barrier of water tanks to the other side of the road, though the cars are coming at me now.

I need to move faster. They’re closing me in.

The roar of a motorcycle engine reaches my ears, and the owner of it comes into view soon after. I skid to a stop as the motorcycle comes up to me, and I grasp its handlebars with my metal arm, flipping it around and jumping up to straddle it. I take off on the motorcycle, leaving the owner behind.

Cars swerve out of my way, and I cross the lanes back to where the cars were going in the same direction that I was. I push the bike as fast as it can go, dodging the cars I come up behind. 

I could hear faint sounds of footsteps on metal, and I glance behind me to find the Cat Guy launching himself off of a car towards me. He grabs for my pack and I wrestle him as best I can with my metal arm while keeping one hand on the steering. The motorcycle wobbles and starts to tilt to the left. I put my hand out and brace myself against the concrete ground. Sparks fly out from underneath my metal hand as I glance back at the man clinging to the back of the bike. I manage to kick out, push him off and shove the bike back up quickly, its speed making it stabilize quickly.

I reach behind me and undo the zipper to the small, front pocket of the pack and pull out the last grenade I had that was designed to cling to surfaces. I activate the grenade, and it blinks red. I toss it up towards the concrete wall of the tunnel, and it sticks, its blinking speeding up. I push the motorcycle even faster and race into a more open space as the bomb explodes behind me, showering me with dust and pebbles.

The back of the bike suddenly lurches to the side, and I think that it was caught in the explosion. The bike falls to the ground, and I tumble off of it, rolling away. The sound of breaking metal somehow reaches me through the destruction, and the moment I come to a stop, the black-suited, cat man is standing above me with his claws extended.

In a flash of dark blue, the man is gone, and Steve is standing in his place. I force myself to my feet as the man gets into a crouching position, flashing lights and sirens behind him.

I’m being surrounded. I didn’t do anything. Why aren’t they letting me leave?

A heavy and dull thud comes from next to me, and I glance at it to see another black-suited man, only his suit is made of metal, and there’s a glowing circle in his chest and on the palms of each of his hands, and there’s a large gun strapped to his back. 

I fist my hands and tense, preparing to fight my way out. They will  _ not _ take me again. I can’t go back. I’d rather die than go through that again.

Steve puts his hand out in front of me, holding me back. Why is he telling me it’s okay? It’s clearly not.

“Stand down now,” the man with the large gun orders.

His order only makes me tense more. I didn’t fight HYDRA. I will fight them.

But I’m grossly outnumbered. Steve is with me--I think--but that will do nothing against the army surrounding us. A car door open and more soldiers spill out of them, pointing guns of all kinds at both of our chests.

“Congratulations, Cap,” the metal man voiced as Steve secured his shield onto his back and put his hands up. “You’re a criminal.”


	12. Chapter 12

Soldiers move on us and take me by the shoulders. Every part of me tenses, and I want to fight them, but instinct said that it was better not to. It only hurt when I fought.

The soldiers force me to my knees and take Steve by the wrists as Wilson comes into the circle held at gunpoint.  The man in the cat suit puts his hands up and retracts his claws before reaching up and removing his helmet. Without the helmet, the suit looked much less cat-like, and the man behind the mask looked average. He had dark skin and even darker hair. His face was kind but hardened with hate, and he regarded me with nothing but disgust.

“Your Highness,” the metal man greets.  Your highness? He’s royal?

The soldiers rip my backpack from my shoulders and push me onto my stomach. It took all I had not to fight them as they secured my wrists. Steve looks down at me and shakes his head, though I can barely see him at my angle.

The soldiers pull me up from the ground and force me to turn. They guide me through the destroyed cars to an armored van with deeply tinted windows. They shove me inside and throw the door closed. Two soldiers get into the driver and the front passenger seats, and another soldier sat beside me. 

I can’t leave any more. I can’t run. Just like with HYDRA. No matter where I go, they’re always going to be there. Whether they’re in my mind or in reality, they’re always there. And I can never fight.

* * *

After a long flight in chains to Berlin, they forced me into a an electrified, glass box with a hard metal chair. They strapped me in much like HYDRA did just before they used their machine on me. I tense as they secure my metal arm, but Steve watches me, shaking his head.

I let them secure me, then they sealed the box and walked away. They wheeled the box into the back of another windowless, armored van. Two soldiers climbed in after and took a seat on either side of the box. They closed up the van, and the vehicle rumbled as it started up.  If it wasn’t for the light coming from the sides of the cage, it would be completely dark. It was almost as dark as the holes they kept me in when I was in Siberia. My breathing picked up, and my heart started to race, pounding against my ribs as image after image flashed through my mind. 

I have nothing to keep me anchored to the present anymore. Before, I could pull out one of my journals and read something I wrote about the friends I remembered, but I don’t have that anymore. 

I shook my head and forced myself to think of more recent events. I could have killed a large number of people with that grenade. Why did I use that? I had promised myself that I wouldn’t use it unless it was an emergency, and though this did qualify as an emergency, a lot of people could have died. I didn’t want to kill anyone, but sometime during the chase, I had lost myself in the Winter Soldier again.

After maybe a few hours, the van stopped, and the doors were opened. The soldiers got out, and they pulled and pushed the cage I was in out after them, shoving it onto a platform connected to another vehicle that vaguely reminded me of a forklift. They moved me through what looked like a garage, and moved me around vehicles, following Steve and Wilson.

Steve glanced at me, but I looked away. He was only here because of me. I had gotten him arrested. “What’s gonna happen to him?” I heard him ask.

“Same thing that ought to happen to you,” another man answered, “psychological evaluation and extradition.”

A psych eval? I can guarantee you that I’ll fail that with flying colors. If I say anything, that is.

I glance over and find that Steve’s back had finally turned to me. The man he was talking to was short and blond in a grey suit, and there was a taller woman next to him in long grey sleeves and a black vest who was also blonde.

“This is Everett Ross, Deputy Task Force Commander,” the woman introduced.

The more I looked at her, the more she reminded me of Peggy. The hair was different, but they had the same features.

“What about a lawyer?” Steve demanded.

“Lawyer. That’s funny,” Ross laughed. He turned his head towards one of the soldiers behind him. “See that their weapons are placed in lock up.”

A man crossed in front of the cage they were keeping me in, my backpack in his hands. That had my journals in there. My memories. I need those back. I don’t want to forget again.

“We’ll write you a receipt,” Ross continued as the soldier taking my pack joined the one taking Steve’s shield and Wilson’s wings. 

“I better not look outside and see anyone flyin’ around in that,” Wilson commented, almost getting me to smirk.

Despite Sandu’s outward appearance, he actually cracked jokes while he cooked at the diner. They weren’t very funny, but they made me smile at least. Sebastian laughed, but hardly anyone else did.

Steve is guided away, and the vehicle holding the cage I was in started to move backwards. Steve glanced back at me, and I hold his gaze for a moment before looking down again. 

I had gotten him in trouble, and I can’t apologize. They won’t let me. They might hurt me if I spoke here, too. HYDRA did at first. They hurt me until I was silent then made me talk in the languages they wanted.

They moved me into a dark, grey, windowless room. They lowered the cage down on the floor and wheeled the vehicle out. Four soldiers stood guard. The cage darkened for a moment while they plugged something into the back, and then it lit back up at full power.

The cameras and the guards. This was too much like HYDRA to be comfortable.  There were no clocks, no sun. Nothing to keep the time. They took my watch. I don’t know how long I sat there before the soldiers left, and a different man took their place. He had a brown jacket and a blue and white plaid shirt, and his hair was light brown and slicked back.

“Hello, Mister Barnes,” he greeted in a heavy German accent. “I’ve been sent by the United Nations to evaluate you. Do you mind if I sit?” 

I didn’t say anything, so he took his seat at the one table in the room anyways and took out a tablet, propping it up in front of him. Silence will be better. It was always better.

“Your first name is James?” he wondered. 

I stayed quiet, though I tensed at him calling me James.

“I’m not here to judge you,” he assured. “I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?” After a moment he continued. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James.”

James was what my parents called me, and I’m definitely not someone they would approve of anymore, but Steve called me Bucky. It’s what I told myself every morning. “My name is Bucky,” I corrected.  I swallowed deeply, trying to convince myself that the man wouldn’t hurt me. My name is Bucky, and he can’t take that. Not again.

The man opened a portfolio and took notes down in it with a pen as he continued, “Tell me, Bucky. You’ve seen a great deal, haven’t you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I cut off. 

It didn’t seem like the man meant me harm--other than the cage I was in--but he still put me on edge. He seemed tense in an odd way. Like he was preparing for something.

“You fear that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop,” he offered. He looked down at the screen of the tablet and tapped on it. “Don’t worry.” He looked back up at me. “We only have to talk about one.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. What was he talking about?

The lights suddenly shut off, and they were replaced with a flashing red light. I didn’t exactly mind darkness in of itself, but being in darkness tied up and defenseless, I minded.

“What the heck is this?” I demanded.

“Why don’t we discuss your home?” the man asked. “Not Romania. Certainly not Brooklyn, no.” This place is just like HYDRA. Ignoring my questions, darkness, being strapped to a chair. The man reached into his briefcase and pulled out a book. A red book with a black star. “I mean your real home.”

I know that book. The memories were faint, but I know it. 

I tense as my heart starts to race.

The man took his glasses off and clicked on a flashlight as he got up from his chair. He paced closer to me with the book open. “Strastnoye zhelaniye.”

My vision blurred as the word echoes through me. “No,” I whisper. Not again. No more.

I almost feel the claws of their machine wrap around my mind and pull my head back. My chest is tight, and my entire body shakes. 

“Rzhavyy.”

“Stop,” I mutter. Please stop. Don’t make me kill anyone.

“Semnadtsat'.”

I can’t give into this. Not again.

I fisted my left hand and strained against the mechanism keeping me in place. “Stop,” I demanded, glaring at him as he came closer.

“Rassvet,” he mercilessly continued.

I could already feel my mind succumbing to the words, but I can’t let myself get taken by them. I scream to force the words away and pulled against the machine keeping me pinned. The metal gave way, and my left hand was freed. I rip at the metal keeping my right hand secured, and the straps around my chest release me, too.

“Pech'.”

Instinct was trying to make me remain still and give into the words as the man moved to the side so it would hurt less, but I force myself up anyways, punching at the bulletproof glass. It had to let me go. He can’t make me kill. I don’t want to kill Steve, and that’s probably who he’s after.

“9.”

I punch, and I punch, and I scream to try to drown out the words, but the glass never gives, and the words still echo in my mind. They’re taking me over, but I can’t let them.

“Dobrokachestvennyy.”

I almost stop punching. I’m getting a little dizzy the more I fight them, but I keep going. I have to get out of here.

“Vozvrashcheniye domoy.”

The glass finally cracks. Just a little more.

“Odin.”

The cracks spread even further.

“Gruzovoy avtomobil'.”

The door finally flies away from the cage as my vision briefly blackens. I manage to stumble out, but it’s too late. That was the last word. I’m his now.

I numbly get to my feet as the man comes into view. “Soldat?”

I tense and try to keep myself from answering, but I can’t fight anymore. My will is gone. “Gotov k vypolneniyu.”

“Mission report. December sixteen, 1991.”


	13. Chapter 13

My mind is still slightly sluggish as I get used to being ordered again, but I quickly adjust. He spoke English, so I will as well. “On December sixteenth in the year 1991, the Winter Soldier was assigned to retrieve doses of the Super Soldier Serum that was injected into Captain America. The doses were being moved by Howard and Maria Stark. As they were driving, the Winter Soldier forced them to crash. The Soldier beat Howard Stark to death and suffocated Maria Stark. There was a camera, so the Soldier shot it to fulfil his order of ‘no witnesses’. Then he retrieved the doses of the Serum from the trunk of Howard and Maria Stark’s car and returned to the HYDRA base.”

“Well done, Soldier,” the man says. “Where is the HYDRA base you returned to? Exactly where?”

“It is located underground at the top of a mountain in Siberia, Russia, in the center of the country,” I answer.

“Is there anyone there now?”

“There were five other Winter Soldiers created, but the leadership of HYDRA determined that they were too dangerous and unpredictable. The five other Soldiers were put into cryogenic freeze and were never released.”

“Can they be woken?”

“Yes. Through a sequence of commands imputed into a computer that the Winter Soldier is unaware of.”

“Well done, Soldier,” the man thanks. “Now, several people will come down here to arrest or kill me. Your orders are to fight your way out of this facility and meet me ten miles west of here. There is a helicopter on the roof, but get out any way you have to. Understood?”

“Yes,” I answer.

Several soldiers dressed in black body armor break down the door of the room we are in and lift their guns as they shout.

“Protect me, Soldier,” the man requests as he backs away a few steps and goes behind me.

Every soldier points their gun at me, and I grab the barrel of the one closest to me. I flip him onto his back, and the rest of the soldiers rush at me. I lift the gun and fire on each of them at the weak points in their armor. The soldiers in the room fall, but more replace them.  I walk towards them, firing the gun until it runs out. I missed a few, but they will be easily taken care of.  I use the shoulder piece of the gun and quickly hit some of the remaining soldiers on the side of the head.  A fist connects with my jaw, and I grab the hand with my left, crushing the soldier’s bones. I pull him towards me and snap his neck. Several other soldiers fire on me, and I shield myself with my metal arm. I move towards them and grab the gun from the one closest to me. I flip him onto his back and use his weight and take out another soldier. 

I glance out the door and find no other soldiers. I take a few steps out and turn left, checking the perimeter. Finding no soldiers, I turn back around and walk back to where the man waits.  I walk back in and watch him get on the floor. “Wait over there,” he orders, gesturing to the wall behind me.

I back up and comply.

“More people will come,” he informs. “I want to watch them fight you.” The man lays down on the floor and glances towards the doorway. “Help me,” he pleads. 

Another man rushes in. “Get up,” he harshly orders, grabbing the man by the collar and shoving him against the wall. “Who are you? What do you want?”

I recognize the voice. I know that I know him from somewhere. 

“To see an empire fall,” my handler answers as a dark-skinned, recognizable man enters the room.

I fist my left hand and swing at him, but he ducks, and my fist connects with the concrete wall, breaking off some of the stone. He swings at me, but I dodge and kick him in the gut. He doubles over, but I grab him by the throat, pulling him back up. I launch him towards the metal and glass cage, and he falls to the floor.

The man who came in first charges towards me. I swing at him, but he ducks under my fist.

I tell myself to stop. I know him. I know his name.  But my body keeps going. My body carries out my handler’s order to protect him.

Steve punches my cheek, and I return it with my left hand, making him stumble backwards. I use his wavering balance to kick him in the chest, sending him to the floor.  Steve slides backwards, and I move closer.

I have to stop. This is Steve. He’s not going to hurt me.

I kick towards him, but he blocks my foot with his hands, pushing me backwards. I use the momentum to spin and come back towards him to punch again. He blocks, and I move towards him, making him back up.

Steve doesn’t want to hurt me, and I don’t want to hurt him, but I have to. I don’t want to kill him, but subduing him is still protecting my handler.

I kick Steve hard in the chest, throwing him against the closed doors of the elevator. I go to punch him, but he quickly moves to the side. My hand dents the metal of the elevator doors, and I move to punch him again. Steve grabs my hand and tries to force me away, but he can’t overcome the strength in my metal arm. I thrust my arm forward and push him through the doors of the elevator. I watch him fall all the way down to the ground level.

Steve is contained. I can move on now. I fulfilled the first part of the order, and I didn’t have to kill him.  I would congratulate myself, but my body still continues up the stairs. 

Stop, stop, stop. Why can’t I stop? Are those words really that strong?

I come out into what appears to be a cafe, and two soldiers quickly move on me. One swings at me with a rod, but I duck to the side and then again when he swings a second time. I grab his hand and rip the rod from his grasp. The second soldier swings at me with another rod, but I use the one I have and block his swings until I can hit him on the side of the head, throwing him to the ground.

The first soldier gets back up and swings at me with his fist, but I grab his hand and kick him in the knee. He cries out and falls to the floor. I throw him down, and his head hits the tiled floor hard enough to knock him out.

My handler didn’t say I have to kill. I will do everything in my limited power to prevent myself from doing that, but if they fight me any harder, I think the Winter Soldier might kill them.

Another soldier pulls out a handgun and runs towards me, and I run to meet him. I rip the gun from his grasp and throw him onto one of the tables nearby. My hand lifts the gun, and I scream at myself not to pull the trigger, but my finger moves there anyways.

A sudden flash of white lights accompanied by a high-pitched ringing temporarily overwhelm my senses, and I lower the gun. My head pulses with the ring, but I’m grateful to whoever was responsible for preventing me from killing that soldier.

I glance towards where I thought the sound came from and found a short man with brown hair and neat facial hair in a grey suit. 

Howard?

Stark lifts his hand and fires towards me, but I duck underneath the shot.

This man can’t be Howard Stark, though he looks just like him. 

I raise the gun towards him, but he blocks with a strange, high-tech red glove and tries to pull it from my hand. I pull the gun free from him, but he reaches for it again. I trade hands, pull the gun up and fire, but he covers the barrel of the gun with his metal glove. 

Please, stop.

We both pull at the gun simultaneously, and the top of it is ripped free. Stark pulls back and slaps me across the face with the part of the gun he held. I return the hit by elbowing him in the nose and punching him in the gut with my left hand. The force sent Stark flying several feet away, and he crashed into one of the tables. 

He has to be Tony, Howard’s son. He has to be. I don’t think I could take killing my friend twice.

The blonde woman from earlier who reminded me of Peggy runs up to me and tries to kick me in the side, but I block her leg. She tries again with the other leg, but I block that kick, too.

She fights like Peggy. Are they related, too?

Another woman with red hair runs up behind her and kicks me sharply in the stomach. I stumble backwards, and the blonde woman uses that to her advantage. She runs up to me and kicks me in the side, grabbing my shoulders. I use her momentum and flip her over me. She crashes down onto a table, and it crumbles under her weight.

A hand hooks underneath my arm, and the red-haired woman flips up on top of my shoulders and repeatedly hits me on the back of my neck. I move towards one of the undamaged tables bend down, throwing her onto the table. My silver hand wraps around her throat and chokes her.

Stop, stop, stop. I know her, too. I knew her in Russia, didn’t I? Your name starts with an “N” I think. I know you.

She grabs at my wrist and tries to pry my hand away from her throat. “You could at least recognize me,” she strains.

I do recognize you. I just can’t stop. You were trying to knock me out before. Please, keep trying. I don’t want to hurt you.

Something hits me in the side, pushing me away from the red-haired woman. It was that Cat Guy again, only he doesn’t have the suit this time. He kicks me repeatedly, but I continually block. He doesn’t leave me an opening to get him back--which is better than I had hoped for. 

He comes at me with his fist, but I block with my left and swing at him with my right. He duck underneath my punch and comes at me again. He lands one on my shoulder, but I return it and block another that was heading quickly for my face. I use my left hand and punch him in the side, throwing the man to the floor several feet away. He rolls for a moment before getting back up into a crouched position that looked much like a cat.

I move away from the scene of chaos I had caused and go up the set of stairs that seem to lead to the roof.

Where’s Steve? He managed to stop me last time.

Footsteps sound in front of me, and I look up as the Cat Guy jumps off of a guardrail and lands in front of me.

I don’t want to kill him, but he might not give me a choice. I can’t hold the Winter Soldier back. 

He kicks at me, but I block with my metal arm. He spins around and kicks again, but I take a step back and dodge. I swing at him, but he ducks under my punch. I try to hit him again as he stands, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me behind him, pinning my hand.

This guy is good. He’s strong. Maybe he can stop me. Someone has to.

My hand strains against his strength and manages to pull free a little, but the man brings his elbow down into my arm, flips me over him, and we both go tumbling down the stairs. 

I get back up the instant I stop rolling, and the man is already throwing a punch at me. I block and try to return it, but he dodges. He comes back up and punches me in the nose, and I stumble backwards. He then spins and kicks me in the chest. The force threw me over the guardrail, and I fell several feet to the floor.

I spot the closed doors of an elevator, and I instantly get up and run towards it. I pry the doors apart and grab the wires of the elevator box. I climb up the wire to the next floor. My right arm is aching, but my left is fine. It’s always fine.

I hold onto the wire with my right hand and open the elevator doors of the next level with my left. Once the doors are open, I use the wire to swing myself onto the floor. I find the stairwell quickly and run up the rest of the way to the roof. 

The door is locked, so I kick it sharply, and the door immediately gives way. I march up the stairs to the landing pad and rip off the cord that kept the helicopter secured. I get in, close the door and strap myself in, looking to see if anyone followed me. 

I wouldn’t mind if they did. They could prevent me from leaving.

I start up the helicopter and raise it off the landing pad. The door bursts open, and I look to find Steve racing towards me.

Anyone but him. Even Wilson or Cat Guy. He might have gotten me to stop last time, but I don’t want to kill him.

Steve jumps up and grabs the landing rail of the copter and pulls downward.

Let go, Steve. You have to. I don’t want to hurt you.

He manages to bring the copter down enough for his feet to touch the ground. I guide the helicopter away from him, but he holds firm, getting dragged along. He struggles and pulls, but it’s of no use. He gets pulled towards the edge of the roof and onto the gate that hangs off of the edge. He grabs hold of the steel guardrail and strains against the copter’s movement.

I try to get myself to stop moving the helicopter away from the landing platform, but the Winter Soldier keeps moving it.

Please let go, Steve. I don’t want you to get taken down or ripped in half trying to save me.

Somehow, Steve manages to pull the helicopter closer to the landing platform. I’m glad that he’s trying to stop me, but I’m also afraid for him.

My hand jerks and moves the helicopter back towards the platform. The copter tips, and its blades crash into the stone of the building, flying everywhere as they break into pieces.

Steve ducks as the helicopter spins on its side. For a moment, I think the vehicle is going to slide off of the roof of the building, and I can’t say that I care.

But it stops short, and Steve is on his stomach in front of me, straining to get up. I unbuckle myself and reach through the cracked glass, shattering it. My silver hand wraps around Steve’s throat and crushes his windpipe. 

I pull against my own movement, but it’s useless. I can’t stop. I never can. One of us will have to die, and all I can do is hope that it’s me and not him.

Steve grabs at my wrist and tries to pry my hand away, but my hand doesn’t release. He pushes against the side of the helicopter, moving it. 

Let go, let go, let go. 

The helicopter tips, and we both fall. My hand still doesn’t let go. The sudden jarring of the copter as we hit the water made me let go as my head hit the glass.

I try to keep my eyes open, but everything is quickly fading, and I can’t breath.

I had let go. Thankfully. I had let go.


	14. Chapter 14

My head pulsed, and I groaned in response. Everything came back slowly. What hit me? 

I slowly lifted my head and took a breath. I was in Bucharest, and Cat Guy attacked me along with tens of other soldiers. I was arrested with Steve and Wilson and taken away to be evaluated. The man who “evaluated” me said those words. Those stupid words.

I opened my eyes and glanced around. The room was dark and damp, made of concrete with water stains up and down the walls. There’s a faint pressure on my left arm, and I looked over to find it trapped under a large metal vice. Good. I can’t hurt anyone anymore.

My head pulsed again, but it was so painful that it made my eyes water. I groaned and put a hand to my head, massaging my temple. 

“Hey, Cap!” someone shouts. The voice is familiar. Wilson?

Footsteps sounded, and I looked up to find who I expected with Steve following close behind him.  “Steve,” I muttered. I can talk without prompting. That was good. Maybe the words had let me go.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” he demands.

It’s a reasonable question. I’m not entirely sure which Bucky he’s talking to either. But I remember him. I don’t feel like I have to kill him.  “Your mom’s name was Sarah,” I said, running through the few memories I had just to make sure I’m myself again. I chuckled softly at the next memory that came. “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.”

“Can’t read that in a museum,” Steve agreed with a small, relieved smile.

“Just like that, we’re supposed to be cool?” Wilson demanded.

I wouldn’t trust me either. I barely even remember. “What did I do?”

“Enough,” Steve answered. 

“Oh, man. I knew this would happen,” I breathed. It always happened. No matter how many times I got away, it always happened. “Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say those freakin’ words.”

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know,” I muttered. 

“People are dead,” Steve pointed out. “The bombing, the setup. The doctor did all that just to get ten minutes with you. I need you to do better than ‘I don’t know’.”

I know that, and I’m trying, Steve, but it’s like I’m split in half. When I’m the Winter Soldier, I barely remember me. And when I’m me, I barely remember the Winter Soldier. 

I force my mind to go back to the last clear memory I had. I was locked up, and that doctor said those words. He asked me questions. December sixteenth in ‘91 and… “He wanted to know about Siberia,” I voiced. I looked back up at Steve and Wilson. It was clear they didn’t understand the significance of the place, and if I was in their position, I wouldn’t either. “Where I was kept,” I clarified. “He wanted to know exactly where.”

“Why would he need to know that?” Steve pressed.

I tense as the memories returned. I hate remembering there. But Steve needs the information. “Because I’m not the only Winter Soldier.”

“Wait. What do you mean that you’re not the  _ only _ Winter Soldier,” Wilson demanded. “There are more? How?”

I swallowed the thick lump in my throat before I started. Sometimes, I hate remembering. “In ‘91, I was ordered to steal a serum as it was being transported. It was similar to the serum that they put into Steve and I. There were five doses and five HYDRA volunteers for the program.”

“Who did you steal it from?” Steve asked.

I had to know something first. Before I tell them what I did, I need to know about the man that looked like Howard. “That man in the base with the metal glove and the suit. Who was he?”

“Tony?” Wilson wondered, crossing his arms even tighter than they already were. “Why do you want to know about him?”

“I know he looks like him, but he’s not Howard,” Steve interrupts. “He’s his son. Tony Stark.”

“How old was he in ‘91?” I ask, pleading that he was an adult.

“I don’t know, maybe nineteen, twenty?” Steve shrugs. “Why?”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Tony was an adult. He had his memories of them, and he was able to take care of himself.  “Because Howard and his wife were the ones transporting the Serum,” I mutter. “And, uh…” I shake my head and force myself to continue. “I was given an order of no witnesses, so…”

“ _ You _ killed Tony’s parents?” Wilson clarified. He shook his head and turned to Steve. “We can’t trust him,” he whispered.

Steve ignored his comment and asked, “What did HYDRA do with the Serum?”

“They injected it into the five volunteers,” I answer. “They became just as strong and fast as we are. Eventually, as the Serum became more rooted inside of them, they became even stronger. I was ordered to train them, but the moment they started to beat me…” I trail off as too many memories come to mind, and my heart beats faster.

“It’s okay, Buck,” Steve says, and I jump. “You’re not there anymore.”

I refocus on him as he comes closer. He reaches for my left arm, and I flinch at his movement, though I don’t know why. He’s my friend. He won’t hurt me.

Steve freezes before slowly pulling a lever that lifted the mechanism pinning my arm in place. I quickly pull my arm away, and I feel instantly better. I’m not trapped.

Steve backs away and leans against the wall. “Who were they?” he asked.

“Their most elite death squad,” I say, straining to keep myself in the present. “More kills than anyone in HYDRA history, and that was before the Serum.”

“They all turn out like you?” Wilson demands. 

I shake my head. “Worse.”

“The doctor. Could he control them?” Steve asks.

“Enough,” I mutter, looking down.

“Said he wanted to see an empire fall,” Steve adds.

“With these guys, he could do it,” I say. “They speak thirty languages, can hide in plain sight, infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize. They can take a whole country down in one night, and you’d never see them coming.”

Wilson detaches himself from the wall and moves closer to Steve. “This would have been a lot easier a week ago,” he mutters. 

I clasp my hands as they speak. If I hadn’t gotten that Serum for HYDRA, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. It’s my fault.

“If we call Tony--”

“No, he won’t believe us,” Wilson cuts off. 

“Even if he did…”

“Who knows if the Accords would let him help,” Wilson finishes. 

“We’re on our own,” Steve mutters, earning a shrug from Wilson.

“Maybe not. I know a guy.”

“What guy?”

Wilson hesitated before answering. “He’s an idiot running around dressed like an ant, but he’s a good fighter. Smart, too.”

“Okay. You contact him, and I can see if Sharon can get us our gear.”

Wilson nodded before walking off.

I needed a distraction. In Bucharest, I could say “hi” to someone at the diner, and they would strike up a conversation. They had learned that I’m not much of a talker, but they would make up for my lack of conversation.  I looked up at Steve and wondered, “Who’s Sharon?”

Steve stood up from the wall and took a few steps towards me. “She’s a woman that I worked with who used to be part of SHIELD.”

“Is she that blonde woman who you were talking to with Ross?”

Steve nodded and hummed in confirmation.

“She looks like Peggy,” I muttered.

Steve smirked. “She’s Peggy’s niece.”

I almost started. “Really?”

“Uh-huh,” Steve nodded. “I just found out, actually. A couple days ago.” His voice lowered. “At Peggy’s funeral.”

I figured that Peggy was dead. Just about everyone we knew is dead, and those that aren’t must be barely clinging to life.

“She talked about you,” Steve added.

I was silent for a moment. “She did?”

“Yeah. She had dementia,” he explained, “so sometimes she was in the past, and sometimes she was in the present. She’d ask me where you were if you were okay.”

I didn’t know how to react, so I nodded. 


	15. Chapter 15

I stayed close to Steve while he made contact with Sharon. It didn’t take all that long, but my mind drifted in and out of my blurred memories of the other Winter Soldiers, making it feel ten times longer. Every time I almost lost myself to them, Steve was there, reminding me that I wasn’t in Siberia anymore, but when he was done contacting Sharon and a different guy he called Clint, he turned to me with an apologetic expression.

“I’m sorry, Bucky, but we need to take care of the other Winter Soldiers before the doctor gets to them,” he muttered.

I had assumed as much. “Okay. I can get you there.”

“No, you don’t have to. I can fly the jet.”

“You won’t be able to fight off all five at once,” I countered. “I can at least be of help with that.”

After a moment, his shoulders slumped, and he nodded. “Now we just need to get there,” he sighed. “You want to steal a car?”

“Oh, Captain America stealing a car?” I questioned sarcastically, trying to lighten my own mood. “Sure you aren’t just borrowing?”

* * *

I waited alone with Sam near the door while Steve went out and got us a car. I offered to do it, but he didn’t want to risk me being seen. The silence between Sam and I was so tense and awkward. I had no idea what to say to him. The only times we met, we were fighting something--whether that be each other or something else.

“Did you teach Steve how to steal a car?” Sam eventually asked.

I huffed once in amusement at the comment but shook my head. “No. Nazi Germany did. And he would say that were ‘borrowing’ the car. Not stealing. Only the last time he did it it was a Tesseract-powered, German tank, so...A car isn’t a problem.”

“He hotwired a tank?” Sam clarified, surprise in his voice.

“Once. And I nearly punched him for it.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause he nearly got himself killed like an idiot,” I sighed. “Sometimes I could swear that is life’s goal was to give me a heart attack.”

A honk sounded outside the door, making me jump. Sam opened the door, and Steve waited in a small, ‘40’s style car. I reached for the handle to the front seat door, but Wilson’s hand shot in front of mine. He got in without a word, and I shrugged, moving to the back. It was so cramped that my knees were almost touching my chest, but it wasn’t that bad. The cryo tube was smaller.

Steve started to guide the car away from our hiding place, and we drove for several minutes in silence until Wilson suddenly said, “ _ Lord of the Rings. _ ”

“ _ Lord of the Rings _ ?” Steve repeated.

“Yeah. Another movie you should add to your list. Well, three movies. And the  _ Hobbit  _ prequels,” Wilson clarifies.

“Movies?” I wondered. “What do you mean movies?”

“Yeah.  _ Lord of the Rings _ and  _ The Hobbit _ are books that are older than us,” Steve agreed, glancing back at me through the rear-view mirror with a smirk. “Bucky, you read those, didn’t you.”

“Yeah,” I answered slowly, vague memories of the series coming to mind. “I tried to get you to read them and you never finished, right?”

Steve laughed. “Yeah. I still don’t know how you read those twice. They’re so boring. They’re just walking and walking and walking.”

I smiled slightly, remembering his struggle to read them. “They weren’t that bad.”

“Well, all that walking is the reason that the books got turned into films,” Wilson said. “They took most of the walking out, and they made the walking they left in funny. I tried to read them, but I agree with Cap. How could you read those once, let alone twice.”

“I actually didn’t finish them the second time,” I corrected. “World War Two and all.”

* * *

A few hours later, we pulled underneath a bridge near the airport. Steve parked the car in front of another and stepped out. The blonde woman from earlier--Peggy’s niece, Sharon--got out of the other car and met Steve halfway.  I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could read their lips well enough. “Not sure you understand the concept of a getaway car,” she said.

Steve’s back was to me, so I couldn’t get his response, and then Sharon turned to the trunk of her car, so I couldn’t get what she said either.

The cryo tube might have been smaller than this car, but I was unconscious then. I couldn’t feel how cramped it was. It seemed like the space in the car had been getting gradually smaller the whole drive.  “Could you move your seat up?” I requested, glaring at the back of Wilson’s head. I knew he was doing this on purpose, and I understood his irritation with me, but he didn’t have to be a jerk about it.

“No,” he curtly stated.

After a moment, I slide to the other side of the car, the blood finally flowing back into my legs. 

Sharon glanced at me with mistrust and started to speak to Steve. “You know, he kind of tried to kill me,” I read.

Steve nodded. “Sorry,” he said before turning back to Sharon.

They spoke some more before Steve leaned closer to her and kissed her. On the mouth. For more than one second.

They pulled away, and Sharon moved towards the front of her car. Steve glanced at Wilson and I, and I smiled at him.  As far as I know, that was his first kiss since ‘45. I was proud of him. He got a girl on his own. Like he got Peggy Carter without me. 

Sharon was her niece. He just kissed the niece of the woman he was in love with a few days after said woman died.

Actually, the more I thought about it, the stranger it was.

Sharon and Steve unloaded the gear from Sharon’s car and placed it in the trunk of ours. Sharon got back into her car and drove off, and Steve got back behind the wheel.

“So you and Sharon, eh?” Wilson said loudly the instant the door closed.

Red stained Steve’s cheeks and he laughed awkwardly. He didn’t say anything as he started the car back up and drove in the opposite direction from Sharon.

“Was that your first kiss since ‘45?” I wondered, earning a laugh from Wilson and a groan from Steve.

“Why does everyone think that I haven’t had a single kiss since ‘45?” Steve questioned harshly.

“Well, have you?” I laughed.

“Yes!” he groaned.

“Really?” Wilson exclaimed sarcastically. “Who?”

Steve sighed and refocused on the road. “Natasha.”

“You kissed Natasha Romanoff?” Wilson clarified.

“It was two years ago, and we were being hunted by both SHIELD and HYDRA,” Steve explained. “We were...hiding our faces.”

“Sure you were,” Wilson countered, drawing out the first word impossibly long.

Natasha Romanoff? I know that name. I know she was given to me as a target just before DC, but it’s something else. I know that name from something other than the Winter Soldier.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asked, glancing at me through the mirror.

I nodded. “Just thought I knew the name.”

“Well, she’s a former Russian assassin who worked for SHIELD,” Steve offered. “That’s all she’d tell us about herself, though.”

“Is that her real name?” I blurted out.

“I don’t think so,” Steve answered. “Why?”

Natasha is the English translation of Natalia. They know her? How is she alive?

* * *

After a few more minutes of driving, we drove up into a parking garage of the airport. Steve pulled into a parking spot next to a white van and stopped the car with a dark-haired woman in the front passenger seat. A man in a black jacket stepped out of the van as Steve did got out of the car. Wilson and I followed his lead as the man approached us. 

“Cap,” he greeted. Must be the Clint that Steve contacted.

“You know I wouldn’t have called if I had any other choice,” Steve apologized, shaking his hand as the dark-haired woman got out of the white van dressed in red leather.

Wilson crossed in front of the car and stood by Steve, and I waited where I was, watching the new people.

“Hey, man. You’re doing me a favor,” Clint dismissed. “Besides, I owe a debt.” He glanced at the young woman behind him.

“Thanks for having my back,” Steve muttered, nodding to the woman.

“It was time I got off my behind,” she shrugged in a thick foreign accent that nearly made me jump.

“How about our other recruit?” Steve wondered.

“He’s rarin’ to go,” Clint announced, walking back towards the white van. He grabbed the handle and turned back to Steve and Wilson. “Had to put a little coffee in him.” He pulled on the handle and slid the door back, revealing a dark-haired man sprawled across the back seat of the van with his hands behind his head. As the van door slammed, the man sat straight up with a jump. “But he should be good.”

The newest man groaned as he stood and ducked through the doorway of the van. “What time zone is this?” he sighed.

Clint pushed him forward and slid the van door closed again. The new man took one look at Steve, and his expression went entirely slack with shock. “Captain America,” he gasped, shaking Steve’s hand vigorously.

“Mister Lang,” Steve greeted calmly.

“It’s an honor,” Lang continued, still shaking Steve’s hand. After a moment, he glanced down at their joined hands and announced, “I’ve been shaking your hand for too long.” He finally let go. “Wow. This-this is awesome.” He turned back to Clint and pointed towards Steve. “Captain America! I know you, too,” he added. “You’re great.” He looked back at Steve and looked him up and down then suddenly grabbed Steve’s shoulders. “Jeez,” he gasped, and Steve glanced at me with an incredulous expression. “Ah, look. I wanna say, I know you know a lot of super people, so thinks for thanking of me.” Lang turned to Wilson and pointed towards him. “Hey, man!”

Wilson jerked his chin towards him. “What’s up, Tic-Tac?”

“Uh...good to see you. Look, what happened last time when I--”

“It was a great audition, but it’ll never happen again,” Wilson cut off with a huff of a laugh.

“They tell you what we’re up against?” Steve asked.

“Something about some psycho assassins?” Lang clarified.

Psycho assassin? Is that how Clint talked about me? Fair, considering that I don’t know him and that I probably did qualify as mentally unstable by now.

“We’re outside the law on this one,” Steve cautioned. “So if you come with us, you’re a wanted man.”

Lang shrugged. “Yeah, well...what else is new?”

Enough with the introductions. If we stayed still for too long, they’d find us. “We should get moving,” I announced.

“We got a chopper lined up,” Cling offered.

A siren started to wail, and a voice came over the PA, almost shouting in German. “There is an emergency that can’t be avoided. Everyone must immediately remove themselves from the building in a calm and orderly fashion.”

“They’re evacuating the airport,” I translated, straightening my posture.

“Stark?” Wilson offered.

“Stark?” Lang exclaimed.

“Suit up,” Steve ordered.

* * *

“So you’re Barnes,” the dark-haired woman with the accent said as she walked up to me.

I nodded.

“I’m Wanda,” she introduced, holding her hand out.  Her accent made me cautious of her, but I shoved the paranoia down and took her hand as gently as I could.  “Cap has spent the past two years looking for you.”

“I know,” I sighed. “That’s why I was in Bucharest to begin with.”

“Ready?” Steve’s voice wondered.

I looked up to find him in his Captain America get-up with his shield griped in his hand.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“Then let’s go.”

Steve walked off, and Wanda and I followed, the other members of our “team” joining us in full gear. I never wanted to wear anything even remotely resembling the Winter Soldier uniform again, but I had to remind myself that I’m fighting for myself this time. Not HYDRA. I can’t go into any battle in a t-shirt and jeans. This uniform that Sharon got for me was dark and stiff, but it was looser than HYDRA’s kevlar vest. She even ripped off the left sleeve so that the panels of my arm wouldn’t get tangled up in the fabric.

“Stark is definitely on his way, and he’ll probably take out that chopper,” Steve explained. “We need to make it look it’s just me. The rest of you provide cover. I’ll take them head on. We’ll surround him and anyone else he’s brought with him and subdue them. Lang, you’re with me. Get small and provide next to invisible cover. Barton, you go with Wanda and cover her six. She’s one of our heaviest hitters. Sam, Bucky, you’re our fast sharpshooters. You go up top. Provide us coverfire if you can, and bucky, protect Sam’s back as he locates the transport they’ll use to get here. That’ll be our ticket out of here.”

I didn’t like the idea of him taking on anyone alone, even if it is just Stark. He’ll have Lang, yes, but he’ll be the size of an actual ant. What can an ant do in battle?

The group split off. I went with Wilson, and Steve ran ahead towards the chopper. By the time we got in position inside the halls of the airport, Steve was already facing two people in metal suits with their glowing hands trained on him.

I couldn’t hear them through the window glass, but the moment the red one took off his helmet, I could read his lips. It was Stark. “Don’t you think that’s weird?” he asked.

I had a communicator in my ear, but I had it turned off. I don’t want someone else’s voice in my head during a fight. It was too distracting.

A black shape jumped in and landed on Steve’s right side. It’s that stupid Cat Guy again. What is with this guy? Steve explained it to me on the way here, but can’t T’Challa put two and two together and realize that I was running from him because he was trying to kill me?

“Anyways,” Tony continued, “Ross gave me thirty-six hours to bring you in. That was twenty-four hours ago. Can you help a brother out?”

There was a pause as Steve responded. I couldn’t catch it because his back was to me, but I got Tony’s comeback. “You’re judgment is askew. Your old war buddy killed innocent people yesterday.”

The red-haired woman--Natasha Romanoff--came out from behind one of the planes and blocked off another one of Steve’s escape routes. “Steve,” she said. “You know what’s about to happen. Do you really want to punch your way out of this one?”

I recognized her instantly. She is Natalia. It took all I had not to rush out to her and ask her all of my questions. How is she alive? What did they do to her? Is she okay?

But I can’t. She’s on the opposite side. 

But I can’t hurt her again, either. 

“Alright. I’ve run out of patience,” Tony muttered before cupping his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Underoos!”

Steve glanced up at his shield as it was ripped from his grasp and his hands were tied together. A red shape flipped through the air and landed on top of a nearby truck. And now there’s that guy.

Tony turned to him, and they had a conversation, but I couldn’t catch any of it.

After a moment of gesturing, Tony turned back to Steve and said, “And you’ve been a complete idiot.” A vein stood out in his neck, so he must have said it tensely. “Dragging in Clint, rescuing Wanda from a place that she doesn’t even want to leave, a safe place? I’m trying to keep…” he seemed to sigh and trail off, as if he was keeping his emotions in check. “I’m trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart.”

There was a pause as Steve responded, and Tony shook his head. “You’re gonna turn Barnes over, you’re gonna come with us, now, because it’s us or a squad of J-SOC guys with no compunction about being impolite.”

Wilson put his hand to his ear and said, “We found it. Their Quinjet’s in hanger five, north runway.”

Steve put his tied hands up, and an arrow flew out from where Barton and Wanda were hiding. The arrow sliced through Steve’s binds, and Tony’s helmet instantly reformed as he turned around.

The guy in the red suit with Steve’s shield was suddenly thrown backwards off of the truck, and Lang resized himself to a normal human, shield in hand. He backed up and handed Steve his shield. 

Wilson and I got up and started running back the way we came. Screw Steve’s plan. He was surrounded and needed help.


	16. Chapter 16

Something--someone landed on the window and clung to the glass on his fingertips. “What the heck is that?” I asked, glancing at Wilson with a smirk.

“Everyone’s got a gimmick now,” he muttered.

It’s true. Captain America, Cat Guy, Falcon, and now this Spider Guy? The weirdest things in World War Two were Steve’s Serum and the Tesseract. None of this crap.

I got slightly ahead of Wilson as we ran, and Spider Guy followed us. He shot a web and swung around, smashing the glass in with his feet. Wilson grunted as he was kicked and thrown several feet away from me. I turned back around and threw a punch towards Spider Guy with my left hand, but he caught my fist. 

He  _ caught _ my  _ metal _ arm and held it there.

“You have a metal arm?” he exclaimed, turning my wrist towards him as he examined it. “That is awesome, dude!”

What the actual heck? How old is this kid? Sixteen? Why on Earth am I fighting a sixteen-year-old in a red onsie?

Wilson flew up and grabbed the kid, taking him up towards the ceiling. They spun around, and the red-suited kid kicked off and shot a web towards the ceiling and swung forward. He followed Wilson through the rafters, and I glanced around for something to hit him with.

I didn’t want to hurt the kid, but I have to now.

I spot a sign bolted into the floor, and race towards it. I grasp its sides and rip it up from the floor. I launched it towards him as hard as I could, and ducked behind a pillar in case he turned his webs on me.

After a second of silence, I check around the pillar to see if I got him.

“Hey buddy, I think you lost this!” the kid’s voice shouted, and the sign suddenly crashed into the pillar. I could just barely duck back behind the pillar to avoid being hit. The sign and the majority of the pillar landed on top of my legs, trapping me. I hate this kid.

The kid suddenly yelped, and Wilson suddenly crashed through the top of a kiosk. He got back up and got into a fighting position, but webs attached his hands to the stairs’ barrier. 

“Are those wings carbon fiber?” Spider Kid wondered as I started working my way out from under what was trapping me.

“Is this stuff coming out of you?” Wilson countered.

“That would explain the rigidity-flexibility ratio, which, gotta say, that’s awesome, man,” the kid continued.

Has this kid ever even been in a real fight before?

“I don’t know if you’ve been in a fight before,” Wilson said, voicing my thoughts, “but there’s usually not this much talking.”

“Alright. Sorry. My bad,” Spider Kid apologised before he jumped up and shot another web towards the ceiling.

I finally got out from underneath the sign and pillar and ran towards Wilson as Spider Kid started to swing towards him. I shielded Wilson, and the kid kicked me in the side. I hit Wilson, and we both went through the glass barrier, crashing down onto the floor.

A web suddenly wrapped around my silver hand, pinning it to the floor. I glance up to where I thought it came from and found Spider Kid crouched on top of a pillar, looking down at Wilson and I. 

“Guys, look, I’d love to keep this up, but I’ve only got one job here today, and I gotta impress Mister Stark, so I’m really sorry.”

Spider Kid extended his hand towards us and was about to shoot a web, but he was ripped off the pillar and dragged through the window by Wilson’s drone. The kid was dropped onto the ground outside, away from us.

“You couldn’t have done that earlier?” I demanded.

“I hate you,” Wilson muttered.

I fisted my left hand and pulled sharply upwards. The lines of the web snapped instantly, and I sat up, moving towards Wilson who was struggling against the webs. I grabbed onto the sticky web and ripped it open. Wilson sat up and shuddered, wiping the rest of the webs off of his arms.

We both stood and ran in the direction of the exit. I finally turned my communicator on and heard heavy breathing as everyone else ran, too. Once we were outside of the airport, I spotted Barton, Lang, Wanda and Steve running towards the hanger where the Quinjet waited.

“Come on!” Steve shouted, waving us towards him.

Wilson and I joined the group and ran with them, the hanger in sight and getting closer by the second. 

A golden-yellow beam hit the ground in front of us and tore a line in the stone ground as it traveled. We all stopped and looked up and found a man floating above us with red skin, a yellow stone in his forehead, a green suit and a gold-green cape. 

How many more guys does Tony have with him? And what’s with the ray from your brain and the flying without mechanical aid? 

All I wanted was some plums yesterday morning. It was a good day, I hadn’t remembered anything bad. Now we’re in a fight with super people that didn’t have the Serum in them.  What exactly happened over the past seventy years?

“Captain Rogers,” the floating man announced, “I know you believe what you’re doing is right,” Tony landed in front of us with Romanoff right behind him, “but for the collective good, you must surrender now.”

No more surrendering. No more giving in to someone else’s will.

The man in the black suit of armor like Tony’s flew in and dropped T’Challa on the ground, and Spider Kid swung in, assembling their entire team in front of us. 

“What do we do, Cap?” Wilson asked.

“We fight,” Steve answered, marching forward.

I don’t want Steve to destroy his friendships, but we have to get to the other Winter Soldiers and take them out. It’s better for everyone as a whole. 

Tony’s team started to jog forward, and we matched their pace, which increased until we were both running towards each other. Everyone who could fly sprung into the air, and the rest of us charged.

T’Challa leaped upwards and landed on top of me. I rolled away from him and stood, blocking his clawed swing. I punched towards him and shook his claws off of my metal arm.

He tried to punch me again, but I grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward. I spun him around and pinned his arm against his back. T’Challa writhed and nearly pulled free, but I shoved him away from me. I didn’t want to hurt him. Just subdue him enough to get him out of of the way.

T’Challa brought his claws towards me again, but I blocked and punched him in the side. He stumbled backwards, and I drew my metal fist forward, punching him in the jaw. He was shoved backwards and onto the floor, but he pushed up from the ground and sprung right back up and reached for my throat.

I tried to back up, but he was faster. His clawed hand latched onto my neck, and I grabbed his wrist to try to pry him off. I used my metal hand and grab onto his throat. My metal hand can crush his windpipe faster than his normal one.

But I don’t want to kill him. I’m not ordered to. It’s my choice, now, and I  _ choose _ not to kill him.

I loosen my grip enough to allow him to get air but remain stiff enough to let him know that I could snap his neck. “I didn’t kill your father,” I explained.

“Then why did you run?” he darkly countered.

Oh. I don’t know. Maybe I was just getting some freaking plums and then some guy in a cat suit shows up with a ton of soldiers, and they all try to kill me!

T’Challa slowly forces my hand away from his throat and tries to use my wrist to throw me to the floor, but I pull free from his grasp and throw a punch towards him with my right. He grabs my hand and pulls me to the floor, but I rolled and get to my knees. T’Challa still holds my wrist, and he twists it until there’s an audible crack, then he spins and kicks me sharply in the chest. I get thrown into a stack of crates and crash onto the stone ground.

Okay. Fine. Not too keen on talking. Guess I might have to kill you.

I manage to get to my knees again as T’Challa rushes at me with his claws extended. The tips graze my neck, but his hand is suddenly engulfed in a red light. The red light jerks backwards, and T’Challa is taken away with it. I glance over to where the red light came from and found Wanda standing there is red curling around her hands.

“You’re welcome,” she says before running off.

Thank you? Now there’s magic?

Sorry, Steve, but I don’t like the future. Can we go back to ‘45?

I glance over towards where I think Steve is and watch him drop an entire metal landing ramp on Spider Kid.

What the heck is he doing that for? He’s a kid!

I run towards him, and Steve spots me. Amidst all the explosions and fighting, we take shelter behind a plane and breath hard.

“We gotta go,” I point out. “That guy’s probably in Siberia by now.” I ignore the nearly paralyzing fear that ignites in me at the mention of it.

“We gotta draw out the flyers,” Steve added. “I’ll take Vision, you get the jet.”

I don’t know who Vision is, but I assume he’s not Spider Kid because he can’t fly.

“No, you get to the jet. Both of you,” Wilson orders over the comm in my ear. I nearly flinch at the voice. I haven’t worn one of these things since I was the Winter Soldier. They’re so distracting. I don’t know how Steve takes having someone else’s voice in your ear during a battle. “The rest of us aren’t getting out of here.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, if we’re gonna win this one, some of us might have to lose it,” Barton agreed.

Steve lowered his gaze to the ground and glanced at me as Wilson reminded, “This isn’t the real fight, Steve.”

They’re strategy was sound, and though I didn’t want to leave brothers/sisters-in-arms behind, I didn’t really know them anyway.

“Alright, Sam,” Steve conceded. “What’s the play?”

“We need a diversion. Something big,” Wilson suggested,

“I got something kinda big,” Lang offered over the communicator. “But I can’t hold it very long. On my signal, run like heck. And if I tear myself in half, don’t come back for me.”

I looked up at Steve. “He’s gonna tear himself in half?”

Steve shrugged. “You sure about this, Scott?”

“I do it all the time,” Lang dismisses, barely concealed nervousness in his voice. “I mean, once. In a lab. Then I passed out. I’m the boss, I’m the boss, I’m the boss,” he repeated.

After a second or two something sounded that was akin to an explosion, and Spider Kid shouted, “Holy crap!”

Steve and I both came out of our hiding place, staring up at the gian Scott Lang holding onto the foot of the man in the black metal suit. 

“I guess that’s the signal,” Steve voiced, taking the words right out of my mouth.

“Way to go Tic-Tac!” Wilson yelled.

Lang reeled back and threw the man in the black metal suit far off, and Wilson glided in, kicking Tony in the side.

Steve and I didn’t waste another moment and ran back in the direction of the hanger as Lang tore the wing off a plane. Why didn’t he do that earlier? How many other secret powers do these guys have?

Engines roared, and there was explosion after explosion, but we ignored them, charging towards the hanger. Half of me wants to turn back--the half of me that’s still stuck in the seventy years I spent there, thinking of Zola and Pierce and all the rest of them--continue the fight, but the rest of me is forcing myself forward. I need to do this. The world needs me to go back there, and so does Steve, Wanda, Lang, Barton--heck--even Wilson. 

The control tower for the airport was suddenly consumed in a yellow light before it started to crumble. It tilted forward and was falling right in front of the hanger entrance. I wasn’t sure if we should stop or keep going and risk getting crushed to get to the jet.

A blanket of red light caught the tower before it could give way completely. I glance back and find Wanda with her hands out and her fingers curved like claws, red light curling around her wrists. She looked like she was struggling to hold it, so I push myself faster.

We were only a few feet from the entrance when Wanda screamed, and the red light underneath the collapsing tower disappeared. I rush as fast as I can and duck underneath the debris. 

Steve joggs up next to me as I stop. Natalia stood, guarding the Quinjet. I want so badly to talk with her. I open my mouth, but she spoke first.

“You’re not gonna stop,” she sighed.

“You know I can’t,” Steve admitted.

Natalia sighed heavily before raising her fist. “I’m gonna regret this.”

I tensed, ready to fight her, but when she fired, someone behind us grunted. We both glanced back to find T’Challa gripping his chest with electricity curling around his suit. 

“Go,” she muttered.

I would have thanked her if we weren’t in such a hurry. Steve and I resumed running the rest of the way to the Quinjet as T’Challa cried out behind us again. We boarded, Steve got in the pilot seat and initiated the startup sequence. Natasha continually fired her electric charges on T’Challa as Steve used the ship’s guns to make a hole in the fallen tower that we could fly through. T’Challa managed to get a few steps in before getting shot again.

Once there was enough space, Steve guided the Quinjet up and through the hanger doors. T’Challa jumped up off of some of the debris, but a glance out the viewport next to me told me that he had fallen back down.

We climbed up into the sky quicky, and I finally sat down in the seat behind Steve. The fight was over, and as far as I know, nobody died for once.

Steve turned his head to look out the window next to me before pushing the jet faster. I followed his gaze and found Tony and his friend racing to catch up with us in their suits. Wilson flew up quickly and fired something towards them that exploded in front of Tony and his friend.

Don’t kill them, Wilson. They’re your friends, too, right?

All of a sudden, a yellow beam shot towards us, and Wilson folded in his wings to dodge. The beam struck Tony’s friend, and he fell towards the ground with no sign of slowing down and black smoke trailing behind him. Tony and Wilson dove after him, but I lost sight of them quickly. All I can do is plead that they would catch him. I’m just as helpless to prevent death as I always am.


	17. Chapter 17

We flew for hours, and Steve suggested multiple times that I sleep, but I couldn’t. Not when we were going back here. I would have terrible nightmares, and I didn’t want him to hear me scream in my sleep, and if he woke me in the middle of one of my dreams, I might think he’s HYDRA and try to kill him.  Instead, I chose to distract myself. “What’s gonna happen to your friends?” I ask.

Steve was silent for a long time before he sighed. “Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it.”

I shook my head. I can’t believe that he’s doing this. He threw away all of his friendships, his status and his safety for an international assassin with more blood on his hands than Steve could ever acquire. “I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Steve.”

Steve was quiet for a moment before turning his head slightly to see me. “What you did all those years? It wasn’t you. You didn’t have a choice.”

I almost scoffed. “I know. But I did it.”

I know cognitively that I didn’t have a choice, but that didn’t help with how it felt. I didn’t have a choice, but I still watched myself kill in the service of the same people Steve and I both fought to bring down. I felt the guns underneath my fingertips and their necks snap under my hand. I remembered it all, and I couldn’t do a single thing about it.

“The Winter Soldier was active for fifty years,” Steve pointed out. “They captured you in ‘45. That leaves twenty missing years. You fought back for twenty years. Any other person would have broken after one. Everyone has their limits. You held on for as long as you could.”

It was the same rationalization that I told myself almost daily. It didn’t help. I still had those memories inside of me, and those words could still affect me. If anyone knows those words, they can start the whole process all over again, but this time I wouldn’t be able to fight.

All the more reason to bring HYDRA’s Siberian facility down.

* * *

After almost a day of flight the mountains of Siberia came into view. I had a few moments of sporadic sleep that weren’t very restful. The moment I started to dream, it was of those twenty years I spent there. I would jump awake again after only a few minutes, and Steve would glance back at me, though he wouldn’t say anything.

As the mountains came closer, I tried my hardest to calm myself down, but my heart refused to slow. I was so sick to my stomach I thought I was going to throw up.

Natalia is alive. She made it out. She survived. I took comfort in that fact. If she can survive the Red Room, I can survive Siberia for a few hours more.

What are Sebastian, Sandu, Adi and Adela doing? Were they worried that I turned up missing, or did they see the news and brand me as a murderer? I was working when the bombing happened, so they probably knew I didn’t do that, but what else were they thinking? I miss them all. When I first met them, I triple checked their actions to make sure they weren’t HYDRA, but I grew to trust them, and they grew to trust me. I didn’t think someone like me could make friends.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice called, making me jump and look up at him. “Ready?”

I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t want to admit to myself that I wasn’t either. If I did, I might stay on this jet and never come off.  I unbuckled myself from the jet’s seat and went to the back where I spotted a compartment labeled “Romanoff” earlier. If she behaved the same way I remembered, it was undoubtedly filled with weapons.

I pulled the drawer out and was greeted with several different types of assault rifles, knives, handguns, grenades and other weapons. I smiled softly to myself. Maybe she hasn’t changed as much as I have in all this time. My memory of her is spotty, but I remember how she made me feel when I was around her. She made me feel so...human. Like there was more to me than just those ten words. 

I latch onto my memory of her and I grab one of the ARs.  _ When _ we get out of here, I  _ will  _ meet her again, and I  _ will _ remember her. It’s my mind and my choice.

I move away from the weapons rack and meet Steve by the landing ramp as it lowered, revealing the coldest environment I could think of.  Steve glanced at me. “Remember that time we had to ride back from Rockaway Beach in the back of that freezer truck?”

I smirked. Finally. Something I remembered. “Was that the time we used our train money to buy hot dogs?”

“You blew three bucks tryin’ to win that stuffed bear for a redhead.”

I smiled. I remembered this. I remember that girl. “What was her name again?”

“Dolores,” Steve answered. “You called her Dot.”

“She’s gotta be a hundred years old by now.”

“So are we, pal,” he pointed out, placing his hand on my shoulder.

I glanced at him to make sure it was him grabbing my shoulder and not someone else. I understood that it was him, but the environment has put me on edge. I was grateful for the distraction, but we can’t remain in this plane forever.

“Let’s go,” Steve stated as he started down the ramp.

I followed after him and guarded his six as we continue forward, the snow crunching under my boots. I barely feel the cold. I’m too busy trying to keep myself in the present.

Steve stops in front of me, and I take a few steps around him to find that the doors to the underground facility are propped open.  “He couldn’t have been here more than a few hours,” Steve says.

“Long enough to wake them up,” I point out.

Steve continues forward and steps through the doors. I haven’t been back here in so long, and I was always here on someone else’s orders. Now, I’m about to willingly walk into a death trap. I take the deepest breath of my life and follow after him. I check behind us one last time and step through the doors. Here we go.

Steve calls the elevator and we both duck inside once it’s here. I breath deeply to try to calm my racing heart, but it’s of no use. I don’t want to be here. There was so much pain and blood. I’m the weakest of the Winter Soldiers. If they’re awake, I won’t be able to protect myself-- let alone Steve--from them. What was I thinking?

I glance up at Steve, and he nods encouragingly. I return it and take another deep breath. It’ll just be a few hours. Either we’ll die here or they will. If we live, then we can get this doctor and leave, and if we die, I’ll never have to worry about hurting anyone else again.

The elevator shudders to a stop, and the doors slide open. Steve reaches down and pulls the gate up. I raise my gun and walk slowly forward, checking all around us for anyone that could kill us--which means anyone at all here.  Steve follows after me, and we move through the narrow hall quickly. I know I’m rushing. I’m panicking, so I’m going faster than I should, but the thought of slowing down was more terrifying.

I slow down slightly when we reach the stairs. I take each step cautiously. These stairs lead to everything. Down here was mostly storage, but upstairs…

A loud thud sounds behind us, and I instantly turn back around, my finger on the trigger. Steve kneels on the stairs below me with his shield up.  “Ready?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I mutter. I’m definitely ready. Ready to kill whoever walks through that door.

The double doors creak as a hand forces its way through the crack between them. The doors part, and Tony Stark’s red and gold metal suit stands in the doorway, the circle in his chest glowing.  Tony walks forward, and his helmet retracts, revealing his face. I tighten my hold on the gun. He’s been trying to capture me since I met him, so he must be here to do that now. He should have left his helmet on.

But he looks so much like Howard that part of me thinks I can’t pull the trigger, but at the same time, I already know that I can and will.

Tony glances behind him before focusing on us. “You seem a little defensive,” he announces. 

Quit being so loud. They’ll hear.

Steve takes a few steps forward and meets him halfway, though he keeps his shield up. “It’s been a long day.”

Tony looks up towards me “At ease, Soldier. I’m not currently after you.”  My already tense muscles coil ten times tighter when he calls me “Soldier”.

“Then why are you here?” Steve questions, earning a shrug from Tony.

“Could be your story’s not so crazy.” Tony came to a stop just feet from Steve. “Maybe.” He took a few steps back and leaned against the wall. “Ross has no idea I’m here. I’d like to keep it that way. Otherwise, I gotta arrest myself.”

Steve turns to keep his shield between him and Tony. “Well that sounds like a lot of paperwork.” Tony scoffs with amusement, and after a moment, Steve lowers his shield. “It’s good to see you, Tony.”

What is he doing? He could be lying. You have no indication that he’s telling the truth, Steve.

“You, too, Cap,” Tony mutters before looking back up at me. “Hey, Manchurian Candidate, you’re killing me. There’s a truce here. You can drop…” He trails off with a sigh.

Steve turns to me and puts a hand up, slowly lowering it towards the ground. I lower the gun with his movement. If Steve believes him to be trustworthy, he must be, but what changed? I suppose he wasn’t ever trying to kill either of us and only bring us in.

“Okay,” Tony mutters, standing up from the wall. “Sam told me why you’re here. I assume the other Soldiers are upstairs with Zemo--the doctor?” 

I nod. There is more than just Soldiers upstairs, but it wouldn’t mean anything to them.

“Let’s go, then,” Tony says, gesturing up the stairs. “What’re we waiting for?”

I turn slowly back around and pick the gun back up. I glance behind me and confirm that Steve was following and that Tony was behind him. I take deep, shaky breaths as we go up the stairs. It’s just a few hours. And it’s Steve. If Tony wants to shove me back into that chair, Steve wouldn’t let him. It’ll be okay. Just a few hours.

Then again. When I was here, I kept telling myself that it was just one more day until Steve and the Howling Commandos busted in here, and they never came.

We come up the stairs and spread out. Steve takes point this time, Tony puts his helmet up again and follows behind him, and I’m too unfocused to stop him. I glance at the cracked, bullet-proof glass wall. It was a small room next to us, and the door that lead in there had steel bars, but that didn’t stop them. There was still blood stains on the floor.

I force myself forward and follow them both down the hall. Something soft scrapes the floor, and I instantly glance behind us but find no one. Must have been a rat. Just a rat.

I turn back around and continue after Steve and Tony. We turn a corner, and Tony puts his hand up as we come into a larger chamber.  “I got heat signatures,” Tony whispers.

“How many?” Steve requests.

“Uh...one.”

I move around to Tony’s other side so we were more spread out. This is that room. The room where the chair and their machine is. This is where I forgot.

The lights of the cryo-freeze chambers turn on, revealing the other Winter Soldiers. I briefly glance at my empty chamber. It was still open and wanting, as if waiting for an opportunity to drag me back in.

“If it’s any comfort,” a voice says, ringing through the air, “they died in their sleep.” It’s the doctor who said those words. The three of us cautiously move further into the room as he continued. “Did you really think I wanted more of you?” 

One of the Soldiers sat in his chamber, a crack in the glass and a hole in his head, blood frozen on his face. “What the heck?” I mutter. If this guy doesn’t want the Winter Soldiers to work for him, why is he here?

“I’m grateful to them, though,” Zemo added. “They brought you here.”

A light clicked on, revealing the small viewport that the HYDRA operatives stood behind as they watched me scream. The doctor stood behind it.  Tony put his hand up, and Steve instantly throws his shield. The shield clangs off of the metal and flies back towards him.

You can’t break through that metal. Even with vibranium. I tried. It’s too thick.

“Please, Captain. The Soviets designed this chamber to withstand the launch blast of UR-100 rockets,” the doctor explained as we rounded the machine they used on me.

“I’m bettin’ I can beat that,” Tony announced.

I strain to keep myself from looking at the chair. I would freeze if I did. I shouldn’t have come here. I’m compromised. I’m struggling to keep myself in the present enough to continue walking forward. I’ll be no good in a fight here.

“Oh, I’m sure you could, Mister Stark, given time,” Zemo responded. “But then you’d never know why you came.”

HYDRA’s dead. They can’t tie me into that machine again. They can’t.

Steve takes large steps towards the doctor. “You killed innocent people in Vienna just to bring us here?” he demands.

“I thought about nothing else for over a year,” the doctor says as Steve and Tony come within a few feet of the chamber. “I studied you. I followed you.” Stalker much? “But now that you’re standing here, I just realized that...there’s a bit of green in the blue of your eyes.” He huffs quietly. “How nice to find a flaw.”

“You’re Sokovian,” Steve concludes. “Is that what this is about?”

“Sokovia was a failed state long before you blew it to kingdom come. No,” Zemo refutes. “I’m here because I made a promise.”

Steve nods slowly. “You lost someone.”

The doctor was silent for a moment before clicking his tongue. “I lost everyone. And so will you.”

The doctor clicks a button and the scene besides Steve flickers to life. Cyrillic words appear over a black and white image. “December sixteenth, 1991.”

Not ‘91. Not here. Not with Tony.

“An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again,” the doctor mutters. “But one which crumbles from within? That’s dead. Forever.”

I train the gun on the doctor, though I know that the bullets wouldn’t pierce the metal or the glass if I fire.

Tony slowly approaches the video screen and looks at it nervously, his helmet removed. His eyes fill with fear. “I know that road,” he mutters. He picks his head up and almost shouts, “What is this?”

He receives no answer. I stand behind Steve and Tony as the video plays. I know what happened. I remember it. I remember killing my friend, but I still don’t want to see it. Especially with Tony here. I can’t imagine what this is like for him.  My chest tightens, and I lower the gun as the image of the Stark’s car crashes into the tree and a motorcycle flies by. Tony shifts his weight as he watches me come back around and dismount the motorcycle.

Please, understand, Tony. I had no choice, no say in the matter. You will be hurt, I know, and if you want to hit me, that’s okay, but please understand. I didn’t want to kill them.

Howard crawls out of the car on the screen, and I march up to him, grabbing him by the hair. I force him to look at me, and he mutters a barely audible, “Sergeant Barnes?”

“Howard,” the recorded voice of his wife calls.

My gun lowers even more. It’s suddenly far too heavy to keep up, and my left shoulder is aching more than it ever has.

Tony glances between me and the screen, fear, mistrust and a deep sadness in his eyes.

I look away from the screen as I hit Howard with my metal hand. I can almost feel the breaking of his skin and nose against my knuckles. 

I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t.

Tony rushes at me, and I instinctively put the gun back up, my eyes stinging. Steve grabs his arm and holds him back as my vision blurs.

Tony takes a breath and turns back to Steve, as tense as can be. “Did you know?” he whispers, his sound so low that I almost couldn’t hear it.

He needs to understand. My heart and mind are constantly crushed because of all I’ve done. It takes all I have just to get up in the morning, and it’s even harder to smile at Adi or make conversation with Adela. If it wasn’t for Steve and the memories I want back, I would have ended it by now.

“I didn’t know it was him,” Steve answers.

“Don’t bullcrap me, Rogers. Did you know?”

Steve hesitates before quietly saying, “Yes,” his voice cracking.

Tony forces Steve away and stands there for a moment, as if debating something. He suddenly brings his hand up and hits Steve so hard in the face that he goes flying several feet away.

I’d accept it if you hit me, Tony, but Steve had nothing to do with it.


	18. Chapter 18

I bring the gun up and train it on him. Please, hit me, Tony. Leave Steve alone. He wasn’t part of that. It was me.

Tony blasts the gun to pieces with a golden ray from his hand, and I toss it away. I throw a half-hearted punch at him with my left hand, that he easily caught. I’m just glad I got his attention away from Steve.

I rip my hand from his grasp as his helmet reforms, covering his face. I block his punch, but then his boots spit fire, and he picks me up. He carries me through the air until throwing me down onto the concrete floor, kneeling over me. He steps on my aching shoulder, making it even more painful, and aims his hand on my face.  His hand glows more and more intensely, and he fired, but he missed. Something hit his hand.

Tony gets to his feet and turns in time for Steve to run up and kick him in the chest. Tony flies towards him and impacts Steve so hard that he throws him meters away. He fires something out of his wrist that binds Steve’s legs together, and I get back up.  I have to keep his attention on me. I deliver a hard uppercut to the jaw of Tony’s suit, and he grabs my shoulders, pulling me into the air again. He slams me into a steel wall and brings his hand up towards me as he prepares a shot. I duck as he fires, making him miss me by centimetres.

I grab his hand with my left and force it away from me. I squeeze as hard as I can, crushing the metal of his glove. He pulls back and opens another gun from his forearm, but I hit his wrist away as he fires, redirecting his aim. The missile slams into the steel frame above one of the cryo chambers and makes it topple over. It crashes into the next chamber, and then the next like dominoes.  Tony lets go, and I drop to the ground. I roll away from the collapsing steel towers as fast as I can while they crash down, but part of me wonders why. Survival instinct, I suppose. That, and the fact that if I do let myself finally go, Tony might turn on Steve.

I get to my feet and glance around for Steve. I spot him over a pile of stone and metal debris, and he waves me away. “Get out of here!” he shouts.

I run off towards the ladder that leads to the launch doors that was used for rockets, leaving him behind. Tony will follow me. The high-pitched whine of his suit preparing a blast sounds in my ears, and I duck, the blast sparking on the concrete wall instead of my head.  I hit the button for the mechanism, and the roof opens up. I climb up the ladder, and once I get my footing under me on the first level, I jump up to the second. I pull myself up onto the metal flooring and get up as quickly as I can. I run along the metal as the roar of Tony’s engines sounds below. I glance down, and find him landing on the level below me. I instantly change course and jump towards the other side of the circular chamber, latching onto the next level.

Tony flies up and kicks me hard in the stomach. I get thrown back to where I just left and land hard, the air instantly leaving my lungs. Tony glides towards me and readies another blast as I struggle to breath again.

I killed Howard Stark because of this place. It’s only fitting that his son should kill me because of this place, too.

A flash of blue and white blocks Tony’s shot, deflecting it back towards him. Steve. Why won’t he stay out of this?

Steve offers me his hand, and I take it. He pulls me up from the floor and says, “He’s not gonna stop. Go.”

I glance down at Tony as he starts to get back up and run towards the next platform. I jump up and kick off the wall to land on the next level.  If only to remember and to make Steve happy, I won’t die. I’ll stay here in this terrible world that only ever took from me.

A devastating crash comes from below, but I don’t look back. I come up to the final level and reach the icy air. There’s a hiss, and a fiery explosion next to me. I flinch and glance up. The roof mechanism had been blasted apart. The door’s falling back down.  I push off and drop down a level or two, landing hard on my aching left side, a sharp pain shooting through my ribs. Why does my left have to be so much heavier than my right? It makes for terribly painful landings.

Tony’s engines roar, and he comes into view soon after. I pick up a piece of led pipe that fell with me, and swing as he comes for me. I hit him into the wall next to me like a baseball and swing for him again as he starts to turn around. He grabs the pipe and rips it from my grasp. He latches onto my wrist and pulls me into him, flipping me around and wrapping his arms around my throat. I gasp for breath, but he refuses to let go.  “Do you even remember them?” he hisses.

They all flash through my mind briefly, but I shove the memories down. “I remember all of them,” I strain.

Tony leans backwards and pulls me from the platform. We fall slowly through the air until Steve launches himself at us. He breaks us apart, and we fall much faster. I land on another platform--stone this time--and my metal arm gets wedged between it and my ribs, making my side hurt much worse.  I hiss and gasp as I force myself to at least sit up. I look down and find Tony getting to his feet further below. I can see Steve’s shoes but not much else from this angle. Tony takes a few steps towards Steve’s shoes, and Steve’s voice pants, “This isn’t gonna change what happened.”

“I don’t care,” Tony muttered. “He killed my mom.”

My heart is crushed even more by his words. I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t. If I did, killing anybody was the last thing I would have done. I’m sorry, Tony. I understand your anger, but please understand my situation.

Tony soars towards Steve and out of my view. I could hear punches landing and groans in response, but I couldn’t see them.

A glint of light shined in my eye, and I spotted Steve’s dropped shield. I rushed over to it and picked it up, dropping down onto the ground. A few feet below me, Tony had tackled Steve and was preparing either a blast or a punch--I couldn’t tell. I raise the shield above my head and launch myself off of the ledge. I bring the edge of the shield down hard on the back of Tony’s neck, and he rolls away.

He stops on his back and fires a blast towards me. I block it with the shield and toss it back into Steve’s hand as he gets up. Tony rises and throws a wild punch at me that I duck and return. It was enough to make him stumble, and I knee him in the gut. The hard metal made my knee ache, but I ignored the pain as Steve ran up and hit Tony in the face with his shield.

I punch again, but Tony manages to block. Steve punches him, temporarily drawing his attention. I kick Tony in the back of the knee, getting him to kneel. Steve tosses his shield towards me as Tony prepared another blast. I blocked the blast as Steve punched him in the face. I uses the edge of the shield and stab Tony in the stomach, making him double over. Steve punches him again, pushing him down further.

I toss Steve’s shield back towards him, and Tony lifts his head, blasting Steve in the stomach. Steve is thrown into one of the concrete walls, and Tony gets up. I rush to get between him and Steve and throw a punch. He blocks and tries to hit me, but I duck and take a step forward. He’s forced to take another step back, and I punch again, continually moving forward.

The glowing circle in the middle of his chest must be his power source. Each time he readies a blast, it glows brighter and then dims after he fires. Tony’s suit will shut down without it.

Tony takes another step back and extends his hand. His suit whines, and his hand glows as he prepares the shot. I grab his wrist as he fires, forcing the blast upwards. It cuts through the ceiling, and I force him back. The blast cuts off, and I press him into the concrete wall.  I force his face away from me and grab for the glowing circle in his chest. He reaches for my wrist and grabs hold, but I dig in, resisting him. His suit sparks as I dig in further and further. The feeling in my left hand might be dulled, but I still felt it. The metal of his suit was so sharp that if I had skin on my left hand, I would be badly bleeding. The sparks burned as I pulled.

There was a flash of white light and the most blinding and sudden pain that I barely registered that it happened.

I land on my knees and catch myself with my hand. My shoulder. It hurts almost as horribly as when I first lost my arm, and the metal fused underneath my skin burned. Almost like my heart was melting. I force myself up and glance at my arm. The metal is gone. I see my left arm lying several feet away. There’s wires and sparks coming from my starred shoulder.

A sharp and sudden pain stabs me in the back, and I get thrown through the air. I land on the concrete ground on my back and am too exhausted to get back up again. 

I shouldn’t have tried to emphasize the feeling in my left hand. It would make this moment hurt so much less.

I could hear their blasts and their groans. I have to get up. I have to fight with Steve. I can’t leave him to fend for himself. But I can’t. My body won’t let me. It’s too hurt and tired. I think I’ve been up for two days straight. I’m just as useless as I always am. Before I couldn’t stop myself, but now, I can’t make myself get up.

There’s one last blast, and Steve ends up kneeling next to me. I could see Tony out of the corner of my eye.

“He’s my friend,” Steve panted.

After a moment, Tony muttered, “So was I.”

Tony punches Steve to the floor, then picks him up and throws him towards the snow. “Stay down,” Tony demanded. “Final warning.”

I couldn’t see him anymore, but after a second, Steve breathed, “I could do this all day.”

With one last push, I manage to roll onto my side. Tony puts his hand up, and his suit whines. I grab his ankle and try to pull him back, but he easily frees himself from my weakened grasp. He turns and kicks me in the face with his metal boot. My nose audibly pops, and everything abruptly turns black.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! Thanks for reading, everyone!

Gradually, the bangs of their blasts and the groans from their punches wormed their way back into my consciousness, and I managed to open my eyes. There was a large crack and sounds of sparking electricity, but then there was silence. After a moment, Steve came into view and held out his hand. I ignored the searing pain that came with the movement and took his hand. Steve pulled me back to my feet and slung my arm over his shoulder.

“That shield doesn’t belong to you,” Tony announced. “You don’t deserve it.” Steve helped me take a few steps forward, but I can barely keep my head up. “My father made that shield!”

Steve pauses for a moment, then lets his shield drop to the concrete ground. He didn’t say a word and helped me limp off towards a ground-level door. He turns the handle and shoulders it open, bringing us out into the blindingly bright, white landscape.  He guides me back towards the Quinjet, but a voice makes him freeze. “Where do you plan to go?” I recognize it as T’Challa. What does he want now?

Steve turns, and I make out the blurred outline of T’Challa in his black cat suit, though his helmet is removed.  “Wherever we can,” Steve sighs before continuing back towards the jet.

“You can’t go anywhere.” The snow crunches behind us, and then he is suddenly in front of us. “You are wanted criminals in almost every nation. Almost. Let me take you to Wakanda, my home. We can care for you there.”

“First you try to kill us, then you offer to help us?” Steve questioned.

“My apologies,” T’Challa mutters glancing down. “I was acting on the limited information I had, but I realize now that Zemo is truly responsible. I have left him for Tony Stark to find.” They’re both silent for a moment, and a sharp pang from my shoulder makes me hiss. “Please. Come to Wakanda. We can provide for you.”

I try to force the pain away, but I can’t. It’s too persistent. 

Steve glances between me and T’Challa before nodding. T’Challa turns and races aboard the Quinjet, and Steve follows after as fast as he can while holding me.  I want to ask him to stop. He needs medical attention, too. He took a worse beating than I did. He must be aching. But I know that even if I asked him to, he wouldn’t do any such thing.

Steve lowers me into a seat on the jet and carefully straps me in. “Where’d you learn to fly a Quinjet?” he shouts over the humming of the engines and the retracting landing ramp.

“We have many resources in Wakanda,” T’Challa answers.

* * *

After a day of flight that pushes the jet past its limits, T’Challa tells us that we’ve arrived. Steve and I have taken care of our cuts and bruises, and the seemingly endless supply of aspirin took away most of the soreness, but it did nothing to dull the pain in my shoulder and chest. My shoulder aches constantly, and my chest burns like it's on fire. I can usually ignore the pain in my shoulder, but the added pain of the heated metal in my chest made me unable to. 

I watched over T’Challa’s shoulder as we flew over trees and desert land. T’Challa guided the jet through the air and directly for a mountain. I tensed as he didn’t slow down. "Hey!" Steve shouted. "Stop!"

"Calm down, Stephen Rogers. We are not going to crash," T'Challa assured. I highly doubted that. But then the image of the mountain blurred and opened, revealing a shining city of glass and metal.  “Like I said, we have many resources in Wakanda."

We glided over the city and eventually landed on a large landing platform. There were several armed women standing on the platform in red and gold battle dresses. T’Challa opened the landing ramp, and I carefully unbuckled myself from the seat, minding my shoulder.  Steve took my arm and helped me up. He guided me a little too carefully down the ramp after T’Challa. A shorter, young woman separated herself from the group of warriors and ran up to T’Challa, embracing him. “Glad you could make it back, Brother.”

“Thank you, Shuri,” T’Challa muttered. He gestured to Steve and I before turning back to the army of women. “These men need medical attention. Please, see to it.”

The women simultaneously crossed their arms at their shoulders and put their feet together in one sharp movement before returning to their tense resting position.

Several people ran up to Steve and I and guided us through the halls of T’Challa’s enormous castle. “Thought you said Wakanda was a third world country,” I muttered to Steve.

“Everyone’s just full of surprises, now,” he whispered back.

The people lead us to a hospital wing with a lot of holograms and computer screens that didn’t make sense to me. They weren't written in any language I knew. They sat us down on separate tables across from each other and started to look us over.

I was nervous about telling Steve what I thought about over on the flight here. He will outright reject the idea, but there wasn’t another way. “Hey, Steve,” I started, my voice quiet with nerves.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“I was thinking on the way over here, and…” I trailed off as I took a nervous breath and prepared for his reaction, “I think it’s best that I go back into cryo.”

I glanced up at Steve and found him sitting straight up, rigidly stone-faced. “Why? You’re not in danger. We don’t need to hide you here. There’s no reason for you to go--”

“There is, Steve,” I cut off, keeping my voice calm. “Those words still affect me. If someone else says them, we’ll go right back to square one with me not knowing you at all.”

After a whole minute of Steve staring at me in silence, his shoulders sagged, and he sighed. “Only if you’re sure. You’re under  _ no _ obligation to go back in.”

I nodded. “I’m sure.”

* * *

After an hour or two, the Wakandan doctors removed the jagged metal from my left shoulder. There’s still the shoulder part of the prosthetic there, but the edges were smoothed down, and the constant aching had lessened, and the burning inside my chest had stopped. It took me a while to convince myself to trust them, but I felt so much lighter after they took away the pain, and it wasn’t just a physical lightness of having several pounds of metal and wires suddenly removed from my person. I felt...freer. I could breathe more easily

The doctors gave me a white tank top and pants that I changed into, though it was difficult to do one-handed. They wrapped a black covering around my shoulder that drained away the little amount of lingering pain as Steve walked up to me.  “You sure about this?” he asked for the tenth time.

I glanced behind him at the white metal and glass cryotube the Wakandans had prepared. “I can’t trust my own mind,” I sighed. “So, until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing. For everybody.” And who knows. I might dream of good memories while I’m under. I don’t think I ever dreamed with HYDRA, and if I did I don’t remember, but these people are nice. I could dream here. My only regret about going back under was never talking to Natalia again. Maybe I’ll dream of her.

“It is ready, Mister Barnes,” a woman announced. 

I nodded and slid myself off of the table I was sitting on. I was a little anxious about going back under, but I kept reminding myself that this wasn’t HYDRA. These people won’t hurt me. They’ve treated me with nothing but kindness since I got here, even though they have no idea who I am.

I step in and lean against the cushion as the doctors strap me in. At least it’s more comfortable than HYDRA’s chamber. It’s more open. The glass slid up, and I let my eyes finally close. Air hissed loudly inside, and it became rapidly freezing. 

Then I dreamed.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so that "He’s a brainwashed toy soldier. To see what we did to him, it would break his Captain's heart" quote I used in this is not mine. I found it on an edited picture of Bucky on the internet, but I have no idea what it's from. Just giving credit where credit is due!


End file.
